A Certain Anti-Skill Cadet
by GodandMen
Summary: Jim has been transferred to Academy City from an overseas station. His job and school life brings him into contact with many people, including a certain Level-5 Esper. This is the story of a regular pair of boots on the ground in a city filled with supernatural magic and Espers. However, Jim is not as helpless as others might think. (Rewrite of Magical Index/Railgun. OC AU.)
1. Baptism I

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

**BAPTISM**

**I **

* * *

-x-

* * *

Jim stared ominously at the machine.

His eyes wandered over the coin slot and traced the outline of the arrow-shaped sticker. It pointed upwards to a bigger opening. Just above the bigger slot were the words "Notes below ¥10,000."

So…this is the power of science!

Here he was, within the famed Academy City, a city known for its major scientific discoveries and technologies – a true paradise of science and intellect – looking suspiciously at a vending machine.

_So how is this supposed to work_, he wondered, _I put in a 1,000 note and it spits out coins_?

The concept that vending machines accept notes was very suspicious for him. He had of course never seen _contraptions_ like this in Sofia. Heck, now that he thought about it, he's never even seen a vending machine in the city before! That of course made perfect sense. Such an object wouldn't last a night, even in the better parts of the city, before disappearing into thin air. In any case, Jim would never trust them anyway, certainly not enough to trust one with a 10,000 ¥ note. By his calculations that was equivalent to about $100.

_One-hundred-effing-dollars! _

While Jim had _great_ respect for the power of science and the _wonderful, wonderful _technological advancements mankind has achieved, this was a bit too much. Never mind asking him to give up ¥10,00, he couldn't even trust it with the crumbled ¥1,000 note in his hand. This was crossing the line!

He instinctively rubbed the metal locket on his neck for luck. Feeling the cool surface brushing against his fingertips had always calmed him, no matter the situation.

Jim looked at the ¥1,000 note in his hand. His dry, parched throat begged for sweet release.

Jim didn't really have a choice. He had only arrived in the city today so he did not have any coins on him. All he had were banknotes that he had withdrawn beforehand. Furthermore, the absolute urgency of the situation weighed on him heavily. The sun was going to set soon, and he still had not found his dorms. If he did not get a canned drink from this very vending machine right now, he may very well die of thirst that very night!

Jim sighed heavily and gingerly inserted the crumbled banknote.

The machine whirred and buzzed with great vigor as it swallowed the note. Jim waited with bated breath…he waited and waited…and waited…The machine buzzed some more and then went deadly silent.

A cry of despair pierced the orange sky.

* * *

Jim yawned tiredly as he walked along the silent street. The sun had already set and he was still no closer to his dorm. With practiced despair, he unfolded his map again and looked over his chicken scratches on it. Try as he might, he couldn't for the life of him find the fabled "Building E, 27th Street, District 14". What's with all these numbers and letters? He had looked over all of Academy City's map and found that all streets and locations were named with numbers and letters. None have them had any names.

_Tsk tsk, such must be the scientific nature of Academy City!_

Oh well, maybe he'll sleep on the street tonight. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. He seriously began to look for a nice hole or a bench to spend the night.

That's when he saw them.

There were two of them, one at each end of the street. Jim's eyes caught a black van with dark windows passing the adjacent intersection. The street lights were beginning to flicker. There was nobody around. No witnesses.

_Two alleyways_, he noted mentally,_ both probably covered._

He was about halfway down the street to the next intersection. He had approximately fifty meters to go. Jim clutched his backpack closer to him and cracked his fingers. _But wait…they're too early._ The men did not seem to be in any hurry to get into position, even though Jim was almost out. _Could it be…?_

_Wait wait wait_, Jim's thoughts raced through his mind, _maybe they're our guys! _

_Maybe I walked into a training exercise or something. Or maybe it might be some sort of a prank they play on new guys. Who knows?_

He was now at the intersection, under the safety of the traffic light's security cameras. The men were still moving forwards and Jim saw the van taking a turn to be on the same side of the road as the men.

Now they were getting into position.

But not for him.

Jim crossed and street and finally understood the situation. He saw the target. There was a girl with long ashen hair standing motionlessly in front of a closed store. One of the men walked past her to obtain confirmation, then he stopped some distance away. The second man stopped some distance away in the opposite direction before reaching her. Both of them were in position to cut off her escape. The van was beginning to speed up.

Jim sighed.

So…what now? Is he supposed to jump in like some sort of a superhero and save her? Somewhere close by there's probably a tactical team standing by in case things go south. Heck, they probably have (at least) a Level-3 operator with them. How is he supposed to fight them? Anyways, he hasn't reported to his duty station yet, so _technically_ he was still a civilian. His hands tighten on the straps of his backpack. _I don't wannaaaa,_ he mentally moaned, _I just want to sleep!_

The van sped up and came to a screeching halt just beside the girl. She stood no chance as two men emerged in flash and stabbed her neck with a syringe. The side doors closed with a whirl of motion and the vehicle picked up speed again and raced past the intersection's red lights. Simple, clean, and effective. The two men looked around to check the surrounding before quickly disappearing into the alleyways.

Jim crept out from a crevice in the wall. He looked around as well, shrugged, and walked on.

* * *

"Who is he?"

She looked at the bright screen in front of her. She saw the kid materialize from the wall just as the picket team retreated. He was quite young, a boy really, no older than sixteen. But the manner in which he moved, how his eyes checked the angles, how practiced and calm he seemed…he was no amateur.

"Probably a passerby, ma'am."

"No, he isn't. Does anyone have eyes on what's in his backpack?"

"…No ma'am."

"The target could have teleported the package to him via magic. This can't be a coincidence."

She pointed at the other three men sitting beside her in the command van.

"Get his backpack. If he's just a bystander, rob him like you're just common thugs. If he's not, capture him for questioning. Use your weapons at discretion."

* * *

_Oh for god's sake. Seriously?_

Jim saw them bounding up on him like a pack of vicious wolves. There was no pretense at all. He swore he could even see the bulge of their pistols beneath their black leather jackets. Jim cursed himself for misreading how they would handle witnesses, even though he was pretty sure that the picket team didn't spot him. If Jim ran, then they would have extra incentive to hunt him down. _He must be involved in the operation! Maybe he was the contact the target was waiting for!_ The best he could do now is act like a completely innocent bystander.

They surrounded him and demanded his backpack. Jim looked at them with a sour expression. He asked them if he could keep his credit card. There was a moment of hesitation as they considered this. Mentally Jim giggled at the absurdity of it. _Aren't you guys supposed to act like thugs or something? What kind of a thug would let the victim keep his credit card?_ After a moment the leader of the group gruffly denied his request and took his backpack from him. They even stood him against the wall and patted him down, in-case he was hiding anything on his clothes.

And that was how Jim ended up in a deserted street with absolutely nothing except the clothes on his back. They took his phone, his map, his backpack and everything in his pockets. Jim sighed for the nth time that day.

_Well, at least I have –_

Jim reached up to his neck to feel the cool steel links of his locket…and found nothing. He felt his breath cutting off from his lungs. The locket…was in his bag. The memory of him placing it inside earlier during the day hit him like a flood. _How could I have forgotten?_

A sudden coldness swept over his body as he steeled himself. He felt his breath stabilizing and a calmness gripping his heart. He needed to find them and retrieve his backpack. He looked around the street and found a car parked to the side. He quickly jogged up to it and peered through the window. It was an old 2005 Toyota Corrolla. Thank heavens!

He wrapped his shirt around his elbows and smashed in the windows. The first thing he did was to check the glove compartment. He found: pieces of receipt, a flashlight, some crumbled tissue paper..._oh come on_…and a glove! It was a pair of white cotton workman's gloves. _Finally, some luck!_ He hurriedly stuffed his hands into them. In under a minute of smashing the windows he was already beneath the driver's seat sorting through the wires. The irony of trying to hotwire an old 2005 Toyota in the most technologically advanced city in the world gave Jim a sardonic smile. After some effort, he managed to jump-start the car.

As he pulled out of the parking space, Jim took stock of his situation.

At minimum there must be at least two vans; one with the capture team and another command and observation van that the tactical team probably came from. His backpack is probably in the command van. The two vehicles are probably traveling to a safe house right now. If they are stupid they will be travelling together, if not they are probably some distance apart – but always in visual contact.

Jim didn't know where their safe house is. He only had a general idea of which direction they went.

But what he did know…was the map of Academy City. He knew that right now they were near the borders of District 14, and just beside them are District 3 and District 19. District 3 is an area designated for authorized outsiders i.e. tourists, where there are a lot of hotels and accommodation. It is therefore filled with counterintelligence personnel keeping an eye on these foreign visitors to Academy City.

No competent ops team would base their safe house out of such a district. District 19 on the other hand, was known for being a hotbed of criminal activity (or so said the intel brief). Therefore the obvious choice would District 19.

As Jim drove recklessly past the intersections the uncertainty of his gamble weighed heavily on him. With some difficulty, he could recall the map and even some of the details, but he was still flying blind. He needed to be lucky in order to catch them. With every passing moment his chances of finding them diminished. Soon he needed to make a gamble about their position and intercept them or it would be too late.

He recalled that there was a bridge nearby connecting the two districts. Of course, it was not the only way, but it was the closest one. Maybe, maybe…

* * *

"Anything in the backpack?"

"No ma'am, just some common items. We don't have the package."

"What items?" she hissed.

"Some papers, a passport, booklet, a map, some jewelry, and a phone."

"Passport? What country?"

"Bulgarian."

She furrowed her eyebrows in annoyance.

"And the jewelry?"

She quickly took a look at it. It was a plain metal locket. She huffed and stuffed everything back into the backpack.

"Update on the capture team."

"They are still waiting for the bridge."

She looked out the shaded windows at the drawbridge slowing lowering itself. It was probably unwise to stop here, but it was the closest route to the safe house. They had received reports of increased Anti-Skill patrols along their secondary and tertiary extraction routes. She did not want to take any chances on this one. She looked again at the capture van parked some distance away in another alley.

Patience…

That's when a brick crashed through the window and smashed in the driver's face. The other men flinched and reached for the door, but she managed to stop them. She gestured quickly to the windows. The door was probably already covered, opening it would be suicide. She grabbed the backpack and handed it to one of them.

"Get this to the capture and van and extract it! They must be after the backpack!"

She pressed her mic and whispered instructions for the capture van to wait for the backpack before moving. She closed the eyelid of her right eye.

A hint of flames licked her fingertips.

"I'll burn you alive" she whispered as they broke out the windows.

* * *

It seems like Jim got the command van.

He didn't know if it was a good or bad thing. On the bright side, they probably have his backpack. On the other hand, he will somehow have to deal with the tactical team that was breaking out through the windows. Of course, they knew better than to just open the door. _Oh well_, Jim thought, _it was worth a try._ In any case, it's not like he had the angle covered with a gun. All he had were some bricks and the hope that he didn't miss with his throws.

He felt the familiar fear in his stomach rising, but the Lady and her black, velvet arms were hardly strangers to him. He adjusted his gloved hands on the metal pipe and slithered up to the side of the van.

Jim caught the first man stuck trying to pull his pistol from his belt. He brought the pipe down hard but missed his head, sliding down his neck and connecting with the man's shoulder. _Fuck._ Luckily the pain startled the man so much that his arm jerked away from his pistol, giving Jim an precious extra second to strike again. This time he did not miss; the pipe connected cleanly with his jaw. A frenzy of quick blows followed before the man hit the ground.

Then Jim saw a pistol's long suppressor poking through the side of the van. Jim's first instinct was to whack the pistol away, but he quickly realized it was too risky because he did not like the odds of the hand-to-hand exchange that would follow. So he swallowed his throat nervously and allowed the arm to extend further outwards. Finally the man's face came into view as he began to turn the corner.

That's when Jim hit him in the head.

What luck! It was a pretty blind swing in the dark, but Jim felt the pipe connecting squarely with his forehead, and the man reeled backwards, distraught. Jim stepped forwards to jump on him but the man fell head backwards on a pipe. There was a loud bang as he knocked himself out. The pistol fell uselessly to the ground.

_Wow, _Jim thought, taking a breath to smooth out his ragged breathing, _today is my luck day, eh? I thought I'd be dead by now._

That's when he felt the sudden ache in his left arm, burning through his muscles.

_Not now, please, not now. _

Jim stumbled forwards and began to reach for the pistol on the ground just as she hit him with a blast of fire. He barely managed to roll to the side but her flames followed him, flowing through her fingers in a furious arc. After a sustained burst, she folded her hands back to cut the torrent of flames and reacquire her target.

The sudden brightness of her flames had caused her iris to constrict, losing her natural night vision. So she simply closed her left eye and opened her right. Immediately she found him hiding behind a pile of garbage cans. Mustering her strength again she stepped forwards and unleased a controlled burst.

The brightness of her flames lit up the entire alleyway. A couple of windows creaked and shook from the pressure wave of the flames hitting the wall. She poured her fire out for a couple more moments before she took a step back and ceased. He didn't warrant the full blast of her powers and she wanted to conserve her strength. She knew that he would be burnt to a crisp and her eyes, after a short pause for adjustment, checked to confirm this.

Instead, she found herself staring at a garbage can lid.

"Wha…"

Shock overtook her and she struggled to believe what she was seeing. The boy was perfectly fine and unscathed. It was as if that flimsy aluminum lid had…stopped her fire. But how? She was a Level-4 esper and her flames could melt even steel. Sure, she hadn't really put her back into the attack, but she knew that it was still enough to give someone severe burns.

_How could it be?_

She saw him rise from his defensive position – like a superhero whose name eluded her – and raise his deadly weapon. Her hands numbly reached for her Beretta pistol but he simply whacked her with his iron pipe.

* * *

"What is going on? Where is Malyana?"

"We were attacked! We need to go now!"

The man hurriedly handed over the backpack and gestured at the bridge.

"We need to go now!" he repeated again with increased urgency.

"Get a hold of yourself! Nobody can defeat Malyana. She's probably cleaned the threat. Get back there and regroup with your team."

"No! Her orders were to –"

His head jerked forwards in a sudden motion as he collapsed in the van's doorway. The men inside saw the back of his skull fractured open in what had to be –

Two shots managed to get through before they slammed close the van's door. One of the men peeked his head above the van's window and a bullet found him immediately. Several more followed through the windows, showering them with broken glass.

"Floor it!" one of them screamed the driver but there was no response. He crept up the front and found the driver slumped forwards on the steering wheel, blooding dripping down onto his pants. The man looked at the two pairs of frightened eyes staring at him in the dark. The target was still sleeping, although she won't be for too much longer. They needed to act!

The drawbridge was still lowering.

* * *

_Oh, come on…_

Jim fired several more shots at the windows before he crouched down and started to reload.

As much as he tried he couldn't get through the van's body. It doesn't seem to be armor-plated but then again he's probably just poking them with subsonic 9mm.

He heard the van starting up and jerked his head up in dismay. Of course! Why didn't he think to shoot out the tires? He cursed himself for his stupidity and he moved forwards to get an angle.

This time they were firing back, their hands leaning over the windows jerking off shots blindly. Jim managed to put two rounds in the back tire before a couple of whizzes came too close for comfort. Hopefully, the van's a rear-wheel drive.

The engine groaned and stuttered again before coming to life. The van pulled out of the alleyway in an uncertain zigzag and darted towards the drawbridge.

It was too late now for Jim to commandeer the command van, let alone another car. He groaned at his mistake and simply ran out into the street, chasing after the vehicle. The draw bridge was beginning to connect and the van raced gleefully to salvation.

Too little, too late.

Jim felt his own lungs screaming in exertion as he pushed his body to its limits. His thighs were burning with pain.

_More, more_, the thoughts burned into his mind, _I need to get the locket..._

His vision was beginning to blur with sweat and motion; he could barely make out the dark shape racing across the bridge.

It was then that he first saw the girl.

Was it a girl? He had trouble trying to tell from that distance. The night was dark and his vision was fading. All Jim could make out was a small figure standing directly in front of the speeding van on the other side of the drawbridge. He saw her hands rise in a simple motion as if she was tossing something into the sky and then…

Light.

A blinding white light materialized from her hands and shot towards the van. It landed to the side and caused a shattering explosion. The van flipped over and crashed against the bridge's railings. Jim stopped for a moment to catch his breath and squinted his eyes. Did he just see that? What was that? A laser beam? Energy beam?

_Magic?_

He took a couple more moments to catch his breath before looking up. She was a girl alright, and she was nonchalantly walking towards him. Her arm was bobbing up and down like she was tossing something about in her hand.

He checked the pistol's chamber and readjusted his grip.

_These fucking espers_, he thought, _hopefully, she's one of our guys_.

Just as he was considering drawing his pistol on her he saw someone running out of the overturned van. It was the target the ops team was after. It was the small girl with long ashen hair.

And she had his backpack.

She stumbled towards the side of the bridge, clumsily leaping over the safety rails. Jim groaned and gave chase. She stopped at the very edge of the bridge and looked back. She saw both Jim and the other esper were running to her. Jim looked far more concerned than the esper girl. Her eyes darted down at the murky water below and then looked back. A strange expression flashed across her face.

That image of the girl, standing there, her hands holding onto the railings, burned itself into his mind. In that split second, Jim saw her face filled with a deep, unspeakable sadness. Her eyes glimmered with emotion; it was an immeasurable fatigue that longed for an end. The wind blew her long ashen hair across her cheeks, strands of silver fluttering through her tears, as she looked straight into his eyes.

It made Jim remember something he never knew.

"No!"

She jumped.

He followed.

* * *

Darkness. Calm darkness engulfed Jim. The cold water swirled around him as he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into the depths. It was all too familiar feeling.

_What for_, the thought crept into his mind, _what difference does it make?_

_Why are you risking so much for…it?_

A ripple vibrated through his heart as he felt the memories flooding back to him: the piercing screams, the warm blood flowing through the dirt, the shaking earth…and of course the day that he chose to bear everlasting night onto himself.

_Because I promised._

He opened his eyes and saw a light glimmering in the murky darkness. He recognized it. It was the same light he saw that day, the same light that he tried to protect. It was the same light that blinded him, when the thick darkness swirled around him, whispering lies into his ears, telling him that he had no choice.

It was the light in the locket.

He reached out to grab it, but he was too far away. He saw the girl with ashen hair cupping the light in her hands and pulling it closer to her. The serene light rose out of her hands and disappeared into her chest.

_What have I done?_

* * *

Jim tiredly rose out of the water and staggered onto the riverbank. He tried to walk but collapsed on his legs. He struggled to breathe. He had pushed his body to its limits. His left arm was now asking its due, and he felt the terrible pain pulsating from it. Despite the pain, Jim could tell from its intensity that he had gotten lucky. The woman probably didn't use the full strength of her fire against him.

_Let's hope I don't get a fucking episode._

But he was so weak.

A rustle in the grass. Before he knew it he had raised his pistol – how did he still have that? – and found two schoolgirls at the end of the pistol's sights. They had simply materialized out of thin air.

One of them had an armband on her shirt. She looked at him suspiciously and toyed with a metal rod between her fingers. The other girl was the esper that Jim had saw on the bridge.

"I would drop that weapon if I were you," the armband girl called out.

"Who are you guys with?" Jim muttered.

"I am a Judgment member! We protect Academy City from the likes of you."

Jim's fuzzy brain struggled to register that name. Judgment? Is that some gang? A department of Anti-Skill? That name sounded oddly familiar.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"We received reports of some criminals operating in this area. Now drop that gun before I send these rods through your brain. I won't ask again."

The laser girl touched her arm and said something in her ear.

"Yes onee-sama but that doesn't mean he's not dangerous," the armband girl replied loudly.

Judgment! The name finally clicked for Jim.

"Hey! We're on the same side. I'm with Anti-Skill," Jim finally said.

"You expect me to believe that?" the armband girl readied her metal rods between her fingers.

But Jim didn't really care. He strapped the gun against his belt and took a deep breath before diving down into the water again. The two girls exchanged concerned glances at each other and simply stared at the deep murky river. The sound of the river flowing past the bridge, crashing against its pillars, drowned the night.

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 6/2/2020

Last reuploaded: 7/12/2020

Word count: 4332

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Hello and thank you for reading my story. This chapter was written originally as a prank of sorts, a proof of concept if you will. I had some vague ideas to continue it but never got around to it until literally 8 months later! As the story progressed in my mind I had to come back and rewrite some bits and add in information that will be relevant later on. _

_Currently, I have A LOT planned for this story. Granted right now they are all just story ideas with no substance on paper. Honestly, I don't think I will ever get to the end, but who knows eh? So if you are looking for a long-running story, this one might suit your tastes. _

_In any case, it is not your job as a reader to worry about such things. So just sit back, relax and follow poor Jimbo on his journey to...well I'm not just going to tell you! You'll have to read this poor-written crap yourself to find out!_


	2. Baptism II

_Author's Notes:_

**Hello and welcome to the chapter that everyone skips!**

_Well, that's what the stats tell me anyway. _

_Now, as the amateur who wrote this, I could try and list several reasons as to why you shouldn't skip this chapter…_

_…but that would be _**obnoxious**_, right!?_

_So this is all I will say:_

_This chapter is very dialogue heavy!_

* * *

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

BAPTISM

II

* * *

-x-

* * *

"To the left! The left!"

He clutched the Kalashnikov closer to his chest and glanced at her. He could barely recognize her; her face was coated in dust and dried blood, and her short hair was tied up in a boyish knot. But it was her eyes, wide with fear and dread, that caused a pang of pain in his heart.

He took of his black bandanna and tried to wipe the caked dust off her face. A shell landed to their right and the earth erupted in a shower of dirt. He grabbed her and shielded the small girl with his own body. Even though his ears were ringing with pain, he still heard her muffled crying.

He pulled her apart from him and checked her body for blood. When he got to her head he saw her face scrunched up with emotion. The girl loudly blew her nose and tried to hide her stray tears.

She was always like this. Always trying to put up a brave face.

With shaking hands he took off the metal locket from her slender neck and tied it around her wrists. Then he grabbed her hands firmly with his own and managed a smile. For her. She nodded.

But before he could say anything a heavy hand hit him on the back and pushed him forwards. He could feel the fear in his stomach vibrating in sync with the staccato noise of the machine gun.

_Clank, clank, clank._

"Go! Get up, and go! This is your only chance!"

And off they went, the two children, darting across the field like fleeing rats. He remembered holding tightly onto her hands, his eyes blind with fear, and simply running, running towards something, somewhere. The deafening clatter of machine gun fire rattled and reverberated throughout his head.

_Clank, clank, clank, clank, clank._

He gripped her fingers tightly, praying that a bullet would not find them. _But it's alright, it's alright, she's with me. We're together, that's what matters_. He did not hear the shell whistling through the air until it was too late. The earth exploded with a hail of dirt and fire and he hit the ground, face first. Several streaks of tracers followed, whizzing over his head, but they passed too high to hit him. For what seemed like an eternity he simply lay there, frozen with fear, praying that the next one shell would not find him. That's when he suddenly remembered the girl. He frantically opened his eyes and turned around to find her.

And found himself holding a dismembered hand.

He sat there, fixedly staring at the piece of smoldering flesh in his hands, unable, unwilling to believe his eyes. Somehow he found in him the courage to look up. His eyes skirted across the field until they stopped at the black burning crater to his right. That's his sight glazed over, and his vision became a haze of incoherent color and noise. The only thing he could see was the locket hanging on a stalk of wheat, shaking in the wind, soaked with blood. The sound of the machine gun echoed in his head…

_Clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank!_

* * *

For a long time, he could only stare at the ceiling, struggling to force his lungs to breathe. Finally, he felt himself regaining control of his body. Like always, every muscle in his body was tensed to breaking point. Slowly, he began to relax his limbs, one by one. But of course, his left arm was the last to go. It was still wrought with tension as if it was being electrocuted.

_One of these days_, he thought to himself, _I'll wake up and not be able to do that. One of these days._

_Clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank, clank!_

"Can you…stop that?" Jim managed to mutter.

The guard yawned and gave his baton one last swing against the metal bars. The resulting _clank!_ vibrated loudly throughout the cell. Jim clutched his head and groaned.

"Can't you just use your mouth?"

"Oh ho! We got some attitude here, is that it?" the guard crackled.

The most elaborate of profanities formed in Jim's head, but he chose not to say anything. It's not like a Japanese person would understand the phrases anyway. He wearily rose to his feet and walked to the cell door.

"Well, is there a reason, or are you just bored?"

"You're having a talk. Wake up, wash your face, do whatever. Be ready in ten minutes."

Jim limped over to the washbasin and splashed some cold water on his face. He waited for the guard to walk away before he sat down on the cold floor and curled up, clutching his head in his hands. _Fucking dreams_, he thought, _still trying to mess with me, huh?_

His left arm twitched.

_Fuck you, we _did_ make it across that field._

Out of habit, he reached up to feel the cool metal links of his locket. But he found none, and the events of the previous day came rushing back into his memory. Emotions that he thought he had lost long ago poured out of him, drowning him under their weight. He thought to cry, to scream, to lash out, but only a quiet whimper escaped his lips.

_What have I done?_

* * *

She saw that the first thing he did upon walking into the interrogation room was to test his handcuffs. He observed the length of the links curiously and even bit it with his teeth, like a merchant tasting for gold. Satisfied with his experiment, he settled down into the chair and placed his hands beneath the table. He had calm, tired eyes that looked and observed his surroundings discreetly. The boy was a bit underfed, but quite lean. The marks on his forearms and hands told her that he's been working all his life.

Certainly, he had the signs of a criminal.

But there was something amiss. He was calm. Too calm. Or to be exact, a different type of calm than that of a thug in a interrogation room would not display. There was no posturing, no puffed chest, no grim determination of a professional criminal. Instead he seemed to be preparing himself for something else, something different…

Carefully, she paced back and forth across the length of the observation mirror, noting each detail about the boy.

"Alright, I've seen enough," she announced, "I'm going in."

After entering the room, she stood still for a moment and their eyes met. She saw him slowly take stock of her, assessing her, taking in the small details.

_Woman. Long hair, ponytail._ _Tall. Athletic. Strong. _

Jim's eyes darted down to her hands. He couldn't see the palm of her hands but they certainly weren't delicate.

_Calloused hands. _

He spied a small patch of grey skin between her thumb and trigger finger on the back of her hands.

_Slide bite. Lots of shooting_.

She was wearing a drab gray sports sweater. The clothes did not strike him like those of a policewoman.

_Plainclothes? _

His gaze traced the outline of her clothes.

_No bulge. No weapon. _

Or maybe she had it strapped to the back of her belt.

Then Jim looked at her neck.

_A bit short…_

She stepped forward purposefully and sat down in front of him.

"You know why you are here," she said simply, "is there anything else you would like to tell me that we don't know?"

She saw his eyebrows twitch and a strange expression forming on his face.

"Um.." he began slowly, "I…don't really know what you guys know or don't know…I'm sorry?"

"We already know everything there is to know."

"…okay."

Silence.

"So…is there anything you wanted to ask me?" he tried again, not sure what he was supposed to say.

Her hands came down hard on the table, banging it with such force that Jim swore he heard the wooden legs of the table cracking.

"CONFESS!" she shouted, "WE KNOW EVERYTHING!"

He didn't flinch. Instead, she saw a coldness seeping into his eyes, and she could hear the quiet sound of him stretching his handcuff links. They stared at each other for a long time, neither of them blinking. A heavy silence settled into the room.

Then she started to laugh.

"I'm sorry," she said, chuckling to herself, "I've always wanted to play the bad cop."

His first reaction – the honest one, but only for a split second – was a deep frown and furrowed eyebrows. _Ah_, she thought, _there you are_. But he quickly masked that with an awkward smile and he politely laughed along with her. She walked out and came back with a mug of coffee and some convenience store bread.

"You must be hungry, here, eat and we can talk."

For a moment Jim considered his options and weighed them against each other. _Well, the table is probably bolted to the floor..._The growling noises in his stomach cast another vote_. If it comes to it, it'll be quicker with my hands on the table anyway._

"Thank you, I've been hungry all morning," he said graciously and brought his hands up from under the table. She noted how he placed his hands closely together as if he was being tightly bound by a rope and not handcuffs with a two-inch chain link.

"So, let's talk about what happened yesterday. I want to hear your story."

"Well…I don't know where to start."

"Start from the beginning, tell me how it happened. I need to know what happened so I can help you," she cooed gently.

Jim bit his tongue from making a sarcastic remark about _how she knows everything_ and took a sip of his coffee.

"So, yesterday, I was lost and trying to get to my dorm. Then I saw these guys trying to kidnap a girl. They took her to a van and drove away. I didn't know what to do. Then I heard somebody fighting them and then one of the vans drove to the bridge. Then I saw the girl running away and then she jumped off the bridge. That's all I know."

She leaned back into her chair. _Wow_. No frails, no unnecessary details, no misremembered memories, no narrative, no story. It was absolutely nothing like a witness – a high school boy at that – recounting their experience.

She had heard hundreds of testimonies from witnesses, and they always sounded the same: long, rambling, unfocused.

And of course, they would be, when asked such an open-ended question such as "tell me what happened". Many guilty suspects have been caught when they talked too much or tried to overelaborate their story. The boy seemed prepared.

Well, she'll have to work this one out slowly.

"I see…did you recover your backpack?" she tried.

Jim blinked.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Did you recover your backpack? There must have been some valuables in there, no?"

She caught the slightest stir in his face. His eyes clouded over with something she didn't recognize.

"I don't know. I got robbed," he simply stated.

Then he added, just to be clear: "Do you know who robbed me? My credit card and passport were in there. And a lot of my ID papers. I hope I'm not in trouble."

She watched him take another sip of coffee and chew some bread.

_Well, well, playing dumb, are we? _

"Don't worry," she reassured him, "we have your information."

She motioned at the observation mirror and a guard walked in with a folder. She opened it in her lap, but in such a way that he could not see its contents. She flipped over a couple of pages nonchalantly and looked up again.

"So, it says here that you are an overseas student studying in Academy City?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Interesting…and it also says here that you are currently enrolled in the security cadetship program, training to be an Anti-Skill officer."

"Yes, that's correct ma'am."

"Well, I must say that I'm surprised you didn't call Anti-Skill when you saw the abduction taking place. We could have prevented it from happening. Is there a reason?"

Jim's mind went blank.

_Yeah_, he thought to himself, _why the fuck didn't I do that? I should have just done that!_

He mentally chastised himself for forgetting such a simple thing.

_For fuck's sake, you have to remember that you're a civilian, just a random kid. You're not on an op or anything. You don't have to hide. _

"I didn't know the number," he lied, "I'm sorry."

"All visitors and students, especially international students, are given a handbook with emergency contact information written on the back when they arrive at the airport," she pointed out.

_Oh, I guess I didn't need to memorize all that stuff in the brief. Damnit._

"Ah…I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, I'm very stupid."

"I see, that's understandable. We all make mistakes. Let's talk about what you saw happening at the crime scene. You said you saw somebody attacking the kidnappers? Can you tell me what you saw?"

Jim stuffed another piece of bread into his mouth.

"I didn't really see anything. I just heard some fighting and shooting. That's all I know."

_Let's hope she doesn't ask about –_

"Interesting. How did you find them?"

_– aaaand there it is._

Now Jim's in a tough spot. So far he's just a dumb stupid student who knows nothing, did nothing, and hopefully responsible for nothing. But he needs to explain how he found them, and if she's asking that she probably knows about the car. He'll have to admit to something eventually.

"I don't know, it was an accident I guess."

_Still, playing dumb?_

"Also, we recovered a hijacked car at the scene of the crime; do you know anything about that?"

Now, this was tricky. He took the car from a random street, out in the open. It's plausible that they could have caught him on security footage doing so. If he denies this they can catch him red-handed with a lie.

He had considered this aspect carefully in his cell but he gambled that they wouldn't have security cameras everywhere, or at least not in some small street off the main road like the one he took the car from. Furthermore, he took care to wear gloves and to wipe down the dashboard before leaving. It's unlikely they have his fingerprints.

But if he admits to the car to avoid lying, then his accident story is far less plausible. Especially not when he drove around like a madman, cruising through all the traffic lights.

Oh! The realization hit him.

_The traffic lights!_ _Traffic cameras!_

Of course, they have footage of him with the car. He had forgotten about that.

_Shit. _

She observed him taking a deep breath and a guilty expression forming on his face. _There it is_, she thought,_ I got him_. To hammer the last nail into the coffin, she smiled sympathetically and reached out to him, placing her hand on his.

"It's alright, you can tell me."

He looked at her nervously.

"Can I tell you the truth?"

A warm motherly smile spread across her face.

"Of course, I won't get mad."

"I kind of stole that car."

"Of course."

Then silence.

She looked at him.

"And then?"

"Well, I stole the car."

She physically resisted the urge to let out a heavy sigh. _Alright, alright, let's do this the long boring way. _

"Why did you steal the car?"

"It was…well, I wanted to go to the police."

"The police? Why did you want to go to the police?"

"To report that I got robbed."

"I see, so you wanted –" then she stopped herself.

She took some time to process this new information while casting a curious look at him.

"…so it wasn't an accident that you found them," she stated slowly.

"Well…yes, but no. Okay…so it was like this. I was walking by myself and then I saw like this small girl get kidnapped. They had like a van and like three guys jumped out and grabbed her. I was like 'woah wtf' but I was kinda scared and I didn't know what to do so I just hid in an alley. Then I got robbed by some other guys and I didn't have anything on me. I lost my passport, my ID papers, all of that stuff and I was like panicking really really bad, I felt like I was useless, and also maybe I should have helped the girl. So I thought, hey, I will go to the police station and ask for help, both for her and for me. I was so dumb I forgot to call to the police when I had my backpack, sorry. So anyways I like broke into this car and hotwired it and stuff, and I drove it around really quickly. I am really sorry, I think I drove past like, I don't know, 10 red lights or something. I was just really scared and panicking. It's my first time abroad and I didn't know what to do. I lost all of my money and my passport and I still haven't found my dorm. I worked so hard to come to Academy City and my –"

She rubbed her temple. Now he's talking like a witness, like a teenage boy in high school. A frantic one, maybe, but she's seen worse breakdowns.

"Slow down, slow down. You were talking about driving the car. What happened next?"

"Okay...so yeah, I was driving around the car and I didn't know the map so I was driving and driving. Then I thought to myself that I don't even know what I'm doing so I stopped the car to figure out what to do –"

_No, you stopped the car deliberately,_ she thought, _I saw the footage._

"– and then I thought I heard something suspicious going on in one of the alleys. I had a gut feeling about it so I crept up to it to see what it was –"

She racked her memory of the footage. _Yes…that is a passable explanation_. _After all, the only thing we have for certain is limited footage from a bad angle of him creeping into an alley. Well, that and him dashing the lights. It would be difficult to prove intent. _

"– and then I hear some people fighting and shooting or something. I was afraid to peek because I thought they might see me, so I just hid behind a corner. And then the fighting stopped and I crept out and I saw that some guys were hurt and stuff. I didn't get a chance to see who did it."

_How convenient._

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. I was panicking and I thought I was going to be homeless so I stole that car. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I know I could have caused a traffic accident but I didn't mean to do that. I am really sorry to the owner of that car, please don't expel me from school. I worked so hard to get here, this is my future –"

_Well_, she thought, _his guilty face is pretty convincing_. He looked to be on the verge tears, his voice was beginning to break. _Maybe a little too convincing._

"Please, I can help you. You have to tell me what happened next," she said patiently.

"Okay…so I saw that some guys were hurt, and then I saw one of the van driving out onto the bridge. It was the same van that I saw the girl get kidnapped from so I thought that maybe I should do something, so I ran up to the bridge and then this girl shot like a laser or something, it was really crazy and it blew up the van! It was crazy."

"The van did not blow up. It was toppled."

"Oh right, right, so then I saw someone running out of the van to the bridge, like the side of the bridge. I looked carefully it was the girl! For some reason, she looked at me and maybe she thought I was a bad guy and then she jumped off the bridge! It was crazy."

"And you jumped in after her."

He looked away sheepishly.

"I don't know what I was doing…I guess…I guess I wanted to save her," he mumbled.

Her mouth twitched.

"We have testimony from Judgement members on the scene that you were wielding a firearm."

He shrugged.

"I dunno, I saw it on the ground and picked it up, I thought it might help or something. Sorry, I didn't shoot anybody or anything. "

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. Jim nibbled away at the remaining bread, his eyes downcast. They sat in silence for a moment before she closed the folder. It was a dead end.

"Did you guys find her?" Jim suddenly asked.

"No," she replied grimly, "we have personnel stationed all along the river, but we've yet to find her body."

"So did you catch the bad guys?"

"Yes, some of them. While you were heroically trying to save the girl members of Judgement arrested two heavily wounded men from the overturned van."

"What did they say?"

She did not answer. She was staring fixedly at the ceiling, deep in thought, while Tom finished the last bit of coffee and waited for an answer.

Finally, she stretched her arms and got to her feet, and started pacing around the room. The sounds of her rapid footsteps echcoed in Jim's ears. He glanced down and saw that she was wearing black combat boots.

"They said they were attacked by an unknown assailant who took out their tactical team, which included a Level-4 Esper. Then they were stopped by Judgment before they could get away."

Jim carefully controlled his breath, taking care to inhale and exhale in small, quiet cycles to avoid giving away his rapidly increasing heartbeat. He pinched his hand and concentrated his mind on the stinging pain; a distraction from the cold sweat that was forming on his back.

He took stock of the facts.

The fighting took place in a dark alley at night. The capture van was stationed a fair distance away from the command van. He was shooting at them from behind cover. The only people who would have seen Jim personally is the tactical team…

"Oh, I saw some guys on the ground next to the van, what happened to them?"

Her eyes pierced him.

"They were executed. All of them. Shot in the back of their head."

Jim whistled a sigh of relief. But that was followed quickly by an ominous thought.

_I didn't do that. Speaking of which…I probably should have. Once I got the pistol. Don't want them getting up and jumping me from behind. _

"You said there was an esper, did you catch him?"

"No, we did not."

_So she did that_, Jim thought, _taking out her own team, huh?_

She probably woke up while the debacle on the bridge was happening and then personally took care of it before escaping.

"I take it that you don't know that the men who robbed you were the same men who abducted the girl?"

"Oh whoa!" Jim exclaimed, eyes widening, "Really? I didn't know that. Did you find my bag with them? What did they want with me?"

"No, we did not find your bag. They probably attacked you because they suspected you were involved somehow with their target."

"How did you figure that out?"

"We found a computer in one of their vans. Electronic analysis revealed that they had set up some observation cameras and was tracking you."

Jim looked at her.

Without even looking at him, she answered his question:

"There was very limited footage. And no, there is no footage of you hijacking the car."

She finally stopped pacing around and sat down again. Jim saw that her face was clear of the frustration and concentration that had plagued her throughout the interrogation. Instead, there was now a mischievous smile dancing on her lips. Their eyes met.

Then she took off her hairband, and her long, lustrous hair flowed down onto her back.

"Not bad, not bad," she began, nodding approvingly, "that story will do."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Some tips: you didn't steal the car, you commandeered it. And don't overplay the panicking student angle. Talk more about how you wanted to save the girl, but yes, make a point to stress that you were pretty dumb to not call the Anti-Skill when you still had your backpack. Good call on playing dumb about who robbed you, it saves you a fair bit of hassle. Again, remember that you wanted to save the girl. It'll be a lot more consistent when you jump in after her on the bridge. You will have to admit to the car because we have footage. That being said, quite stupid of you to take the effort of wearing gloves and then dash the lights like a drunkard. Oh well, you're a cadet after all."

She saw his eyebrows rising higher and higher. He did a good job of maintaining a neutral expression and waited for her to say more. His hands were still on the table, still positioned closely together, absolutely motionless.

She smiled and pushed her chair into the table. Tantalizingly, she leaned in closer, placing her elbow on the table and holding her face only a foot away from him. She made a point of pressing her breasts together and, taking his hands, squished them beneath her chest against the table. And of course, she stuck her neck out right in front of him, exposing her throat.

"In a couple of hours, the official investigator will have a chat with you. Tell them everything you said to me, with some tweaks, and you will be fine."

She shifted her chest slightly and felt her breasts wiggling against his hands.

"While the carjacking is unfortunate, I'll pull some strings and it'll be recognized as what it is; a valiant attempt by a brave cadet to save an innocent little girl."

She carefully observed his facial expression. There was no pretense of discomfort, blushing, or surprise; his face was just a blank slab of ice. She shook her head a bit and let her hair tussle out naturally.

Then she leaned in even closer until his lips were just inches away from hers. The woman let a hot steamy breath on his face. He was looking up now, through the tresses of hair that completely covered his peripheral vision. She knew that he couldn't turn away from her face.

"You were so brave, Jim," she purred, "I've never seen such a commendable young man like you."

She was very close.

"It was _you _who beat up the bad guys, right?"

_Do it_, she thought, feeling the metal handcuffs beneath her chest, _do it_.

Jim opened his mouth ever so slightly to say something. She looked into his brown murky eyes and saw in them only impassiveness. She realized then that she might as well stark naked for all that mattered. It made no difference; he was forming his thoughts carefully, precisely and without any response to her little show.

"I didn't kill them."

Her steely gaze carefully pierced him, looking for any signs of weakness or hesitation.

"Someone killed the tactical team. Not me."

The two of them stayed there like that for a long moment. Then she let out a long, deep sigh and collapsed back into her chair, defeated. She took her hairband and started retying her ponytail. Jim blinked quickly and began to carefully pick out the loose strands of her hair in his eyes.

"Why _did_ you jump into the river?"

He shrugged.

"I'm a brave cadet trying to save an innocent girl."

She scoffed contemptibly.

"Ma'am, you have grey hair."

"What?!"

"You have grey hair, ma'am." Jim carefully observed a strand of hair on his finger and raised it up against the light.

"Nonsense! Let me see that."

He handed it to her.

After a few moments of intense scrutiny, she finally looked up with a terrible, terrible frown. She angrily tossed it back at him, but the strand simply floated down harmlessly, small rays of light glimmering from it. She looked at the scuba watch on her wrist.

"So, today's Saturday. Next week Monday I want you at the station door 7:00 AM, sharp! I need to whip you into shape before the school year starts. Right now you're just a hooligan Hound-Dog-knock-off without the juice to strong arm your way out of the stupid shit you get into. And don't get into any more trouble! And wear a uniform! I'm not taking a shaggy kid under my wing."

He listened carefully and nodded solemnly at her instructions. Then he tilted his head in mild confusion.

"Uniform, ma'am?"

"Don't worry, go to supply and they'll cut out a size for you."

"…supply?"

"Yes, supply."

He tilted his head to the side and gave her a weird side-way glance. She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, a uniform," she said slowly, "you're a security cadet, remember? An Anti-Skill cadet. A cadet wears a uniform...yes? U-n-d-e-r-s-t-a-n-d? The S-T-A-T-I-O-N. You follow?"

She let out a hearty laugh when she saw the realization slowly dawning on his face.

"Yes, _that_ station, you know, the _Anti-Skill station_, that you, an Anti-Skill cadet, also known as a security cadet, is assigned to. Yes, the Anti-Skill station_, no, not the other one_. Remember? You're a dumb stupid high school boy studying in a cadetship program, remember?"

He nodded frantically, and it amused to her to no end to see how sheepish he was being. And she knew that he wasn't pretending; it was real. This was the real him actually being the dumb high school kid that he is supposed to be.

_Oh, these kids,_ she thought sadly, _what are we doing to them?_

"So…" he managed to stammer out, "you're not…?"

"Not what?"

"…"

"Speak!"

"Nothing, ma'am."

"Well, since you won't tell me what I'm _not, _I'll tell you what I _am."_

The woman stood up and cracked her knuckles. A devious smile spread across her face. Jim gulped nervously, beads of sweat actually dripping down his head. Sheer horror was plastered across his face.

"Yes, I'm Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho, commanding officer of Anti-Skill Branch 73, and commanding officer of _you_."

He immediately jumped to his feet and stood at attention. The chair fell onto the floor with a loud rattle. He tried to salute but only succeeded in bruising his wrist with the handcuffs from the sudden jerk of motion.

"I'm sorry madam!" he hollered enthusiastically, "I didn't know!"

"Oh please, don't shout in such a small room. And save me the false manners. When I heard my assigned cadet got into trouble I figured that I'll come and see what kind of fuck-up he must be. I got what I came for and a bit more. Quite a bit more. By the way, all of this is unofficial, of course, and our conversation isn't recorded or part of your testimony. So don't get too worked up about it."

She reached for the coffee mug and plastic wrappers on the table.

"No, no, no," he blurted out, "I'll do it, ma'am. I'll do it. Thank you for the – !"

"I said, _stop shouting._"

" – meal…madam," he finished on a whisper.

"And you can throw the trash, but that's _my _mug."

He obediently handed her the cup.

She opened the door. Just before she walked out, she glanced back at him and looked him in the eye.

"Oh, last thing. Next time, don't check your handcuffs like such an idiot. And don't be so obvious about it, I saw you staring at my neck when I walked in. The touch with your hands being bound is nice but only brings unwanted attention to it. And _yes_, the table is bolted to the floor, you cannot flip it. _Yes_, Anti-Skill handcuffs have a two-inch chain link between them, and _yes_, it _is_ a bit short to strangle someone's neck with it. However, you're always welcome to try if you want to."

Yomikawa winked.

"For your information, the current record for that move is seven seconds. Seven seconds! Managing to last seven seconds is very respectable. Then I break both their wrists. Who knows…maybe you can do better. You're certainly welcome to try!"

And with that, the door slammed shut. Jim was left alone in the room. He slowly put down the plastic wrapper on the table before collapsing into the chair.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the table, trying to make sense of what just happened. He reached for the folder and flipped through the pages. The first page had several bullet points scrawled across it, listing basic information about him and the rest of the pages were blank.

Then, finally, he muttered:

"Fuck."

* * *

Yomikawa stood in the hall for a second, smiling to herself. She heard an annoyed huff and turned to look at the schoolgirl standing behind her, leaning against the wall. Her arms were crossed along her chest, just below the Judgement armband on her sleeve. She shook her head and flung her hair dismissively.

"Why did you let him off like that, Yomikawa-sensei?" she pouted, "you know that he's not what he pretends to be."

Yomikawa shrugged.

"Whoever he's with, he's not against us," the lieutenant said simply, "and that's good enough for me."

"But he could be related to the –"

"The serial killer? I seriously doubt it. He arrived in the city only yesterday."

The girl did not seem satisfied with her answer.

Yomikawa shrugged.

"In any case, he'll start working with me on Monday. Don't worry, I'll keep a close eye on him. He might even prove useful in helping us with the killer."

The lieutenant rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Yes…the boy could certainly prove to be useful, especially with his unique set of skills. Yomikawa could use the help.

Especially the help of someone who was taught and trained by _them_.

The girl furrowed her eyebrows and let out an exasperated protest. But before she could say anything Yomikawa simply started walking down the hall. The girl glanced back at the door of the interrogation room before taking a few quick steps to follow her.

"Who is he?" the girl asked.

"A cadet."

"No, I meant who _exactly_ is he?"

_A mongrel_, Yomikawa answered in her mind, but said nothing.

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 20/10/2020

Last reuploaded: 7/12/2020

Word count: 5664

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Congratulations!_

_You made it to the end! _

_Or, more likely, your eyes rolled into the back of your head somewhere in the middle of the chapter, amidst the tedious interrogation, and just skipped to the end. _

_Heck, you probably just skipped that long ass sentence too! _

_In any case, I can't really blame you. However as the writer I felt like I _needed_ to write this chapter. After all, the character that appeared in this chapter will play a very important role in Jim's life. _

_For those of you who actually read the entire thing through, I am very grateful for your patience. _

_Any advice or criticism – especially criticism – would be very helpful. _

_Well, at least the next chapter won't have so much dialogue!_


	3. Baptism III

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

BAPTISM

III

* * *

-x-

* * *

Of course it was too late.

He was arrested – or detained, as they kept trying to tell him – on Friday night. They spent the whole of Saturday questioning him. To Jim's surprise they did not actively try to pin him with something. It seems like Yomikawa did indeed pull some strings and he was let off with nothing but a warning. But he still needed to spend Saturday night in a cell. They gave him a new backpack, some money, the keys to his dorm, _another _map – explaining helpfully to him that his dorm's address was not Building E, 27th Street, but instead Building _E-2_, _7th Street_ – and finally let him out the next morning.

Sunday morning.

Of course it was too late.

He knew that by then the trail had gone cold. It was a long shot to begin with, but at the very least Jim had the advantage of seeing how things unfolded firsthand. He didn't need to scoop around, play detective, and try to figure out what happened. Now, whatever information he had was already out of date. Anything could have happened within the two days he was locked up.

But still, he ran out of the Anti-Skill HQ and hopped into a cab. And off he went to the bridge.

* * *

"This is a crime scene, you need to stand back."

Jim sighed.

He had not reported to the lieutenant yet, so he had no cadet badge. Even then he would still have no real business being there. But if he had a badge he could at least try to talk his way in. Jim glanced at the wreckage of the van again.

"I heard there was a girl who jumped off the bridge. Did you guys find her?"

The Anti-Skill officer narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"And who are you?"

Jim started to say "her friend" but common sense kept his mouth shut. It would be one thing to say that if they knew who she was, had her contact details, knew where she went to school. But if they didn't, and a stranger showed up saying he knew her, then this stranger would not be going anywhere until they got every last piece of information out of him.

Jim's gut told him that if she really was a normal girl then nobody would have sent a capture team after her.

"Well, I heard about it."

The officer slowly looked over Jim. Recognition flashed in his eyes.

"I know you!" the officer exclaimed.

Jim made a long face. _Not again. _

"You're the cadet who tried to save the girl! I saw you on Friday night."

Jim started to stretch his toes, mentally calculating the fastest routes to run from him. Strangely enough, he came to the conclusion that the best thing to do would probably be to jump off the bridge and swim to the other bank. Unfortunately the officer did not seem out of shape.

"Why didn't you say so? Come on, I'll show you around the scene."

Jim had trouble hiding his surprise. The officer gestured at him and Jim stepped over the barrier tape. They started at the van. The last time Jim had seen it was on Friday night, just before he was handcuffed and led away. Back then it was already burning. Apparently they put out the fire before it exploded, leaving only a charred skeleton behind.

"I heard you took on the entire gang, is that true?"

"Um…no, somebody else fought them and I just hid in a corner."

"But still, you went after them, didn't you?"

"…kind of, I guess."

He felt a slap on his back.

"That's some fine work, cadet. It takes a lot of balls to go after a gang. You did the right thing. Don't worry, we'll get them, the bastards and the girl."

The only thing Jim could think of was the nasty guard wringing his baton across the bars of his cells. And now here's another Anti-Skill officer congratulating him on being such a hero. Two sides of a coin, eh?

"It's been nothing but bad times around here lately. First the serial killer business, now this. The City is going to the shitter. Back in my day…"

He rubbed his hands across the pavement, feeling the tar and ash on his fingertips. Black. And wet. Moisture? Dew? Did it rain? Jim tried to remember whether or not it rained when he was being detained but quickly realized that all he had seen was one windowless room after another. He scoffed at his own stupidity. He wasn't in the woods tracking down a wounded deer. What was he going to do? Track down the tire marks? Amongst the thousands of other cars in Academy City? Go poking around the pavement for footprints?

Old habits are stupid and they certainly die hard.

He shook his head at his own whimsical ideas.

_I guess it's true then, _he thought, _you may leave the Woods, but the Woods will never leave you. _

"Oh, the girl. Did you guys find her?"

The officer shook his head grimly.

_Huh_, _it's been two days and they still haven't found her_.

He walked across the bridge to the same spot where she had jumped. He stood there for a moment as the memory came back him. He remembered the girl, with her ashen hair in wind, tears in her face, staring him in the eye. A dull ache pulsed through his left arm.

"Don't worry, we'll find her," the officer consoled him, "we got people searching all along the river."

Jim saw a patrol boat cruising past down below.

"Where does this river end? Does it go out to the sea?"

"Yes, it does, but the water ends at an artificial dam. It's pretty small and there's a metal grate before it. If she…drowned, we would have found her body. So far we haven't, so she must still be alive. Keep your head up, son."

The image of her lifeless body pressed up against the cold metal bars, her eyes staring lifelessly into the sky, with the water rushing past her…

_No, no_, Jim thought, _she wouldn't be staring _up _at the sky, would she? She would be floating with her back up above the water. So when the grate catches her…_

He racked his mind, trying to remember how the bodies floating down the Kosar river looked like. Yes, yes, he had always seen them floating face downwards. But didn't he hear somewhere that drowned bodies always face upwards? Something about the stomach and fat, was it?

But then again, you probably don't have much of a stomach left if you are floating down the Kosar river.

He shook his head again, this time in resignation, and turned away from the railings. The officer patted his back sympathetically. They exchanged some more words before Jim walked away with a heavy heart. Where to now? Even if he jumped into the river there's nothing he can do that Anti-Skill isn't already doing.

Jim's gut told him that the girl was still alive, somewhere. She had to be. But even if he found her, would she still have the locket? Or did the locket slip out of his backpack and into the depths of the river?

The thought of it, resting forever in the depths, never to be found, gave Jim a terrible shiver. He could feel the guilt rising in him again but he pushed it down. It was no time to indulge in self-pity. He shakily sat down on a bench and considered his options.

He remembered how he followed the girl down the bridge. How he felt the cold icy water cutting through his skin as he broke the surface. And of course, the light; the light that the girl cupped in her hands and disappeared inside her chest.

_What was that?_

Jim took a deep breath and sighed. The simple answer was: he did not know. He can try and guess, but it would be pointless. One cannot guess such matters. The only way to find out is to ask her directly.

He toyed with the idea of reporting to the station and asking for help. They would be able to help, certainly. In fact they may already know who she is, where she is; heck, they could already have her sitting in a rusted folding chair in a basement somewhere, with her eyes blindfolded and her hands cuffed behind her back. Of course they can help. It's their job to _know_ after all. And they knew a lot.

But Jim also knew that he was nobody. He was just a pawn in the system; no, less than that. And they could not care less about mongrels like him. Even if they did, the last thing he wanted was for them find the locket. Jim knew very well the things they would do. He would rather have it rotting down in the riverbed than for them to understand its significance.

_So that's it then, _the thought flashed across his mind,_ is this it?_

But…he did have a lead.

He stood up.

Jim had some money. It wasn't much but it will probably be enough. He'll make do. It was still early in the morning; he had some time to prepare. And Jim knew damn well if he was going to bet everything on this lead he was not going in unprepared.

* * *

"Helloo? Is anyone home?"

Now that Jim was standing right in front of it, in broad day light, he realized that it did not look like a store. Or any type of store at all. The roller shutters looked like they had not been touched for the better part of a decade. There was no sign or any type of placard. If anything it looked more like a warehouse of some sort.

He discreetly checked the surroundings again. Yes, this is the spot. The girl was abducted here. Jim's eyes glanced at some of the buildings nearby. They all appeared old and deserted, unlikely to have any witnesses.

The fact that there was no Anti-Skill officer guarding the crime scene probably meant that there was nothing of value they could recover. But then again Jim had given them very vague descriptions of where the girl was kidnapped. It would have been very difficult for them to check all possible paths leading up to the draw bridge.

He pulled his baseball cap further down and knocked again.

"Hello? Is anyone home? I'm here for electrical maintenance! I need to check your fuse box!"

Jim stuffed his hands into the pockets of his electrician's jumpsuit and let out a loud, audible sigh. He turned around with a bored expression and looked around again. He took out a notebook and flipped it open to the middle and scribbled something. Then he scratched his head and looked around again, making sure to swing his head in wide, visible motions.

Then he turned, slowly, hesitantly, into the alleyway adjacent to the warehouse.

It was a narrow alleyway. Jim was not a big person by any means, and his shoulders only had about six inches worth of space on either side. He crept forwards, his eyes raised upwards, intently looking for…_ah, there it is!_

A window.

He checked again. Yes, only one window. _Only one window? What kind of building is this? _And it was pretty far up to boot. He walked directly under it and took off his baseball cap. Jim turned around and placed his back against the opposing building's walls. He stretched his legs outwards.

_Hmm…just enough. Barely._

Before he made his decision he wisely chose to explore other options. He circled the entire building and found a back door. It was locked from the outside with a rusting but sturdy lock. He banged on the door some more but eventually came back to the window. Jim had no other choice.

First some fumbling with the backpack; he turned it around so that he was carrying it on his chest as opposed to his back. A hammer – brand new – was hanging on his neck on a rope tied like a necklace. He tightened the shoulder straps and gave it a couple of test jumps before he was happy. Jim looked up at the window again, then another check of the surroundings; all clear.

_Here goes nothing!_

He pressed his back hard against the wall of the opposite building and using his legs, began to slowly, meticulously, work himself upwards. Jim had to make sure to exert strong enough force that his back simply did not slide down the wall. He could only shift his step upwards a couple of inches at a time, each time silently thanking god for the thick hard friction-inducing rubber soles of his newly bought workman boots. If he was wearing sports shoes he would have kept slipping.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity he arrived at the window. By then his thighs were burning with exhaustion. And of course, Jim should have known better than to think that he would be lucky enough for the window to have a small ledge of some sort. It was flat; an absolutely flat surface with nothing to hold onto.

He groaned and reached for the hammer hanging on his neck.

* * *

Dust?

_No, no, too white. _

Ash?

_Maybe…but not likely. _

Too thin.

Too white.

_What the fuck?_

Jim ran his finger across the top of a cardboard box, feeling the white substance across beneath his skin. He brought it closer to his eyes, but it was too dark inside the building for that to be helpful. Finally, he flicked away.

He had managed to break in alright, but that was only the beginning of his troubles. He came to realize that the building was indeed a warehouse. And it was filled to the brim with strange trash. Strange in the sense that it was a collection of things that seemed to be placed to appear harmless and innocent: newspapers, books, scrap metal, vases, empty bottles, cooking pots. Strangest of all was the random paperwork from _everywhere. _In the spam of five minutes Jim managed to find random office documents from at least twenty major commercial entities, all of which from different industries. And they weren't all congregated in one spot either; they were spread out among everything else.

At one point he thought he saw a figure standing behind the shelves. He whirled around dramatically sent his knife out flying across the warehouse. It hit its target with a dull dud the figure disappeared. Jim rushed forward swinging another knife…and he found himself staring down its lifeless plastic eyes. It was a mannequin; a full-sized CPR mannequin that was standing harmlessly behind some boxes. He sheepishly pulled out the small kitchen knife from its head. So much trash!

All very innocent.

Too innocent.

And then there's this strange powder that covered every inch of the surface, literally every inch of it. Its perfect coverage of the area made it unlikely to be a natural phenomenon. Jim took out his flashlight and took a closer look. It felt so soft.

_Could it be…?_

He squinted at it apprehensively.

Only one way to find out.

Jim tasted it.

He stood up presently and smiled. _Smart, really smart, _he marveled, _whoever did this knows his stuff. _A wonderful reassuring smile spread across his face. This meant only one thing: Jim was in the right place. There _was _a reason the girl came here. What exactly he has yet to discover, but that was just a matter of time.

He cracked his knuckles and went to work.

* * *

He knew immediately that it was magic the moment he saw the symbol on the wall. It was a physical mark that someone had cut into the wall. It was well hidden too, located inconspicuously just a few inches above the ground on beside a shelf. He touched it with his left hand and the damn light show turned on.

_Well, this makes things a bit complicated. _

The thought lazily floated across his mind as the lines of light traced itself across the wall, glowing with magical essence. He followed the lines racing towards an empty wall. Well, not anymore. The previously blank surface was now glowing with a series of magical etchings. Jim couldn't decide whether or not he wished he hadn't found this. He had secretly been hoping to find something simple: incriminating papers, a photo, some random clue, anything else, really, anything.

Anything _secular. _

He sighed and took out his digital camera. Jim hoped that his cheap ¥3,500 ($35) camera had enough pixels to capture the image properly. Thus began the slow, methodical process of photographing the magical words on the wall. Initially, Jim didn't want to use the flash but he found that his flashlight was not bright enough. But when he turned on the flash it was so bright that it outshone the magical glow and resulted in him photographing a blank wall.

_Well, well! Magical enough to have a glowing wall but not enough to be brighter than the flash on a shitty, cheap-ass camera. I guess magic is not so magical after! _

In the end, he just photographed everything without any external light, relying solely on the magical illumination. As he took the pictures he tried to make sense of the etchings of the wall. After some examination, he realized that most of them were drawings of some sort and not lines of writing. All of them were pointing towards five lines of script in the center. The first three were crossed out. The fourth had a question mark next to it.

_ꝽÆænneæænnenigon_

_PÆnnænnefīf_

_ÐÆænnefēowe_

_ÆLloowænnesiextīne?_

_ꝽÆǷnneuuænneseofon_

Jim, of course, had no fucking clue what it meant.

After a long time of painstaking photography, he finally had all of it. He stood back and let out a long, painful stretch. He had been standing in the warehouse for so long that he could no longer smell the musky air.

_Wait no, _the thought suddenly came to him, _the air is clean. _

He turned around and sniffed some more. He scratched his head and tried to remember. Yes, yes, the air was already clean when he broke in. There had never been any musk or heavy air. Jim looked around at the surroundings. Indeed, for a building with such a terrible, rusting exterior the inside was surprisingly clean. Discounting, of course, the layer of white substance.

This meant that the place had been recently inhabited.

He nodded his head, impressed by everything he had seen so far. The safe house was well chosen, well disguised and had a strong cover. The only thing missing was a security element. Whoever used this place was probably operating alone and a professional. Jim slung his backpack across his back and began to look for an exit.

That's when he smelled it.

No, not the air.

Not the musk.

_No, no, no, no._

Jim froze in his step, a sudden explosive adrenaline shooting through his veins. But he did not understand why. It was not a cognitive reaction. It was instinctive. That was what they had always taught him.

_'There's only so much information the brain can process consciously. So we will train your brain to do it subconsciously. It will learn to process the clues and signs of danger on its own. All you have to do is trust it. Trust your instincts! Out there you must always trust your instincts above all else.'_

Out of conditioned habit, like Pavlov's dog, Jim's body braced for the nasty little electric shock that always followed whenever he made a mistake in training. But there was no shock and he was not in training. He was in the field, alone, with no backup and no support. His body automatically knelt down and crept behind a shelf for cover. Jim felt his heart pounding in his chest.

_Why?_

His left arm answered him.

Slowly, quietly, Jim took another deep breath. That's when his brain finally clicked and he understood what his instincts were warning him about. That's when he finally understood the foreign scent in the air.

It was the faint scent of fire.

* * *

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Malyana swung around with her Beretta pistol and tugged the trigger to an ounce of its pull weight. But she did not fire; she did not see him. Her days of wildly firing into the dark were long behind her. The long barrel of the suppressor slowly scanned the shelves and boxes, waiting for it to land on a target.

In her right hand a hint of flames licked her fingertips.

"See the white stuff on the ground?"

Malyana's eyes quickly glanced at it.

"It's flour dust. If you use your fire you'll blow both of us up."

She turned again, trying to trace the origin of the voice. It was not an enormous warehouse but big enough for echolocation to be difficult. The operative quickly rubbed her finger across the flour and tasted it. Yes, the boy was telling the truth. The esper grunted at her bad luck. With the sheer amount of flour everywhere she could cause the entire building to blow up.

She glanced at the flour on the floor and saw a pair of footprints leading down from a broken window.

"Who are you, kid?" she called out.

"Nobody important."

"Well, whoever you are, you're here alone. No support, no team."

"Last time we met, I didn't do too badly alone."

Malyana growled.

"But tell me, why'd you hit your own team? They rubbed you the wrong way?"

"They're a bunch of fucking amateurs. I'm better off without them."

"You know they caught a couple of them. The snakes will be onto you any moment now."

"Snakes, huh? Interesting name for your comrades. Only one group of people in Academy City calls them that."

He answered with silence. She was right.

"Listen kid, you don't even know who you're chasing. I don't know who she is to you, but she is no ordinary girl."

More silence. She followed the footprints further and further.

"That girl is a monster. A dangerous artifact. She needs to be stopped. If she slips away, a lot of innocent people are going to die."

She heard a faint, barely audible chuckle.

"Innocent lives? You should know how much that means to us."

The footsteps were leading towards a faint glow behind the shelves. Malyana slowly walked forwards, her pistol at the ready. She slowly turned the corner on some shelves and saw the glowing etchings on the wall. It was already beginning to fade but she needed just one quick glance to understand everything. A small smile crept into her face.

"Kid, I know you're not here on orders. First following us, and then hitting us alone. Jumping after that girl on the bridge. This is personal, isn't it? "

A sigh.

Malyana turned around in a flash. There was no one behind her but she knew he was close. Very close. She readjusted her grip on her pistol.

"Yes, it's personal. But not in the way you think."

"And here you are, facing off against me instead of running away. She must really mean a lot to you. Oh sweet, sweet youth. The things we do for young love!"

"She means jack shit to me. But I need her alive. The question is, what is she to you? You took out your own team because you wanted to act alone, do something unsanctioned, right? What do you want with her?"

Malyana hesitated in her answer.

"…I need her alive too."

"For what?"

"It's personal."

"Well, well, strange bedfellows now, are we?"

"Listen kid, we can work together. It'll be easier to track her down together. You with your connections inside the city, me with my skills, we can find her. Together."

Out of the corners of her eye, she saw a small flash of movement. The suppressor hissed with the terrible whip of a subsonic 9x19 Parabellum bullet. She fired, again and again, without hesitation or remorse. And Malyana did not miss. Finally, the body fell out of the cover of the shelves and collapsed on the floor. She fired a final shot into its head before pulling out a flashlight and directing it towards his head.

She found herself staring down at a set of lifeless, plastic eyes.

It was the mannequin.

The next thing she knew was the world crashing down around her. One toppled shelf began an unstoppable series of chain reactions. An avalanche of debris and dust fell upon her as the shelves began to fall, one after the other. The boxes each hit the ground in rapid succession, each landing with a deafening crack and spilling its innumerable contents onto the floor. The entire warehouse descended into a pandemonium of dust and haze.

Eventually the commotion settled down. For a long moment there was no sound or a whisper of life in the entire building. The only movement was the idyllic flour floating across the air. A lonely beam of light shone through from a certain broken window. Silence reigned supreme.

That's when first knife shot past within an inch of her right ear. She blinked and instinctively dodged to the left but that was what he had expected. The second knife found her flesh and embedded itself deep into her shoulder.

_How? How can he see?_

That's when Malyana remembered how the boy had attacked them. He had thrown a brick through the van's window and smashed in the driver's head. She pointed the pistol at a point in the darkness and fired. And just as she thought, another knife followed quickly in the place where of her pistol had been.

_The little fucker's a good thrower. _

Malyana took cover behind a wooden crate as more knives shot past her.

_And he can see in the dark! _

* * *

Jim felt the plastic handle of the kitchen knife dancing on his fingers. This was the last knife. He debated fiercely whether or not he should keep his eyes shut. Eventually, he decided against it and opened them; it was too important to bet the last knife on this…

_Man, I wish I could see in the dark. _

Jim squinted his eyes and peered through the haze of flour and dust. His heart sunk as he began to realize that is was probably pointless. He tried anyways. But yes, it was pointless, he couldn't make out anything. Jim could _not_ see in the dark. Not with his eyes anyway. An old familiar dread crept into his heart.

_Of course, _he thought, _I trusted my life with it once. And I'm still here, so…_

So once again, he closed his eyes and listened. Just like what he had done many, many years ago in the deep dark woods, Jim listened. Robbed of his vision, all of his other senses came to life, stronger than ever. Jim felt the humid heat, the sweat dripping down his back, the ache in his arm, and his heart beating desperately. He mustered all of his will and beckoned the darkness to him. Everything faded away as a terrible, suffocating silence descended upon him.

He recited the words once whispered to him:

_Forget. You must forget, here in the Woods you must forget. If you seek to leave this place, you must learn to forget everything. Your past, your life, your humanity…_

She whistled.

He threw his last knife.

_Fuck! _

How could he have fallen for such an obvious bait?

Before Jim could curse his own stupidity, the wall behind him exploded in a puff of dust and he began dodging frantically – with his eyes closed – as the shots methodically followed him, each one hitting closer than the last. He managed to duck behind a crate of wooden boxes just before they found him. There were several more cracks of the wood shattering before the firing stopped. Finally Jim opened his eyes again and saw what was happening.

Red angry flames came pouring out of her and swirled around her like an infernal whirlpool. The entire interior of the warehouse was aglow with its intensity.

Of course, it made perfect sense.

She did not benefit from hiding in the dark as much as he did. She had a real gun while all he had were small kitchen knives. In a straight fight she could easily outshoot him. It was also a lot harder to dodge a bullet than a flying knife.

He peeked out of cover again but another round whizzing past his head reminded him to stay down. The flames were getting stronger and stronger. Jim glanced worriedly at the clouds of dusty swirling frantically in the air. This was not good.

"You'll blow both of us up, you crazy bitch!"

Malyana smiled.

They both knew, of course, that only one of them could leave this place alive. This was the reason Jim had to stay and fight instead of running away. If both of them survived one would inevitably report the other's presence to their respective services. Her superiors most likely didn't know about her betrayal, so to them she was still acting under orders. If the snakes ever managed to catch her and Jim's station hears about it…

Only the two of them knew about the magical script on the wall.

Jim grinded his teeth, a nasty scowl appearing on his face. He took out his camera and dorm keys and stuffed them in one of his pockets. Then he unslung his backpack and emptied some of its contents. He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself but only ended up inhaling a nose full of flour. _Just great!_ He grabbed the hammer in his right hand and readied the backpack in his left.

Then he threw the backpack out into the air. It was the oldest trick in the book; a cheeky schoolboy's trick.

She almost fell for it.

Almost.

It irritated Malyana that she almost wasted a round on it. The sudden jerk of motion caused her hand to automatically aim her pistol at the source; an ingrained reflex trained and practiced over years' worth of experience in the field. But she did not fire. Instead, the pistol immediately dropped down again and the muzzle shadowed the figure darting between the boxes and shelves towards her. The proximity of the bright flames close to her eyes made it difficult to track the boy in the dark. But she fired regardless, placing her shots deliberately and forcing him to change directions several times.

She knew, of course, that he was just trying to draw her shots out until the magazine ran dry. The moment the Beretta pistol clicked empty he would be instantly upon her. But she didn't care about hitting him. All she needed to do was to herd him towards a corner.

_Click!_

The slide on her pistol threw back and revealed an empty chamber. Malyana checked the boy's position. He was caught in a corner formed by two shelves. _Yes_, _I got him. _The fire swirling around her began to shift direction and concentrate in her hands. She stepped forwards and unleashed everything on him.

This time she did not hold back.

A magnificent tsunami of flames came crashing down on him. Malyana cackled madly as she watched the boy's figure disappear beneath the fiery flood enveloping him. He was done for. _No trash can to save you this time!_ The flames devoured the entire corner like an oversized spider web. It's strenght and intensity send the shelves behind flying backwards, hitting the walls behind them with such force that the sound rang out across the entire warehouse. She mustered the more of her strength and concentrated the flames streaming out of her hands.

But there was movement.

Something was moving in the fire.

Malyana narrowed her eyes…

…and finally realized her second mistake.

_His arm. _

The boy's left arm was extended outwards, his palms facing the incoming onslaught of flames. Her fire did nothing to it. Absolutely nothing. She howled in anger and poured it on with everything she got. Her concentrated her entire strength and another fiery flood came shooting out of her left hand. The inferno completely illuminated the entire interior of the warehouse and the sheer force of its impact whipped the flour into a white storm of dust and haze. The very walls of the warehouse began to shake from the force. Some of the cardboard boxes caught fire began spreading like a wild fire.

But still, he advanced.

She saw him moving forwards, slowly, shielded by his left hand, unharmed by her power. That's when she realized her last and final mistake. Her strength was beginning to wane, and the vigor of the fire followed suit. If she kept this up and he was still standing at the end of it…

* * *

The unbearable heat penetrated every pore of Jim's skin. He felt like his skin was being pierced by thousands of tiny needles. He would open his mouth to scream but he knew that it would only expose more of his body to the pain. He must endure, he must survive! If she kept this up eventually she'll lost her strength. That was his only hope. He could not hope to beat her in straight hand-to-hand combat. He must endure. The fire was already weakening.

Then it stopped.

Abruptly.

Jim rushed forward.

* * *

For the first time Malyana managed to get a good proper look at him. He really was a kid, no older than fifteen, with barely a hint of stubble on his face. But in his eyes there was no innocence, only the quiet desperation of hunted men, of men who have brushed shoulders with Death. She had seen that look many times in her youth; it was the same eyes of cornered wolves, the ones who always threw themselves at the hounds closing in.

_Fight or die. _

The boy jumped at her with like a flash of lighting. His left hand shielded his head while his right came swinging forwards with a hammer. Malyana knew that within half a second he would be onto her.

She smiled at his naiveté.

_Really? That was your master plan? To hit me with a hammer?_

The pistol's slide moved forwards with a resounding click and chambered a new round from the fresh magazine.

* * *

_I'm fucked._

Jim saw the empty magazine lying on the floor.

_Of course. _

Of course, she wouldn't just exhaust herself like an idiot and let him bash her head in. Of course not. Of course, she would reload the pistol while he was pinned down by the fire. It's not even that difficult to reload one-handed; even Jim could do it.

He knew it was too late but he went forwards anyways, swinging like a madman. If he managed to tank the first couple shots maybe he would have a chance. Maybe. Or maybe she might even miss! But he knew that she would not miss. He knew she would not.

Malyana looked sadly at Jim.

_Goodbye, kid. _

Malyana's raised the Beretta's sights up and, through the haze and fading light, rested them squarely on Jim's forehead. Then, just like she had done a thousand times before, her fingers slid off the trigger guard and –

* * *

He sat back in his chair and ran his long bony fingers through his auburn hair. He looked into the crystal ball again. He glanced at the boy. After a moment of internal deliberation, he nodded to himself, having come to a decision.

He snapped his fingers.

* * *

– and the flour dust exploded.

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 7/11/2020 (?)

Last reuploaded: 7/12/2020

Word count: 5964


	4. Baptism IV

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

BAPTISM

IV

* * *

-x-

* * *

It started small.

The first explosion somehow took place precisely in the narrow space between Jim and Malyana. Its shockwave rippled through both of their bodies and sent them flying backwards. She hit the wall with a thud, landing squarely on her back and knocking the wind out of her chest. Jim was luckier; he landed on his side and badly bruised his arm.

Even though Jim's pain was greater than hers, he had a clear advantage; he managed to get up first while Malyana was still on the floor, struggling to regain her breath. But even in that state, she reached for her pistol almost immediately and instinctively raised it up into a firing position. Even though her eyes were still closed and her lungs were still trying to breathe, she jerked the trigger and started firing blindly. She had the presence of mind to know that the boy could rush forwards at any moment.

Luckily for her, the first shot passed by Jim's head so close that it actually managed to graze his cheek. He stumbled backwards, shocked, thinking he'd been hit, and that moment of hesitation cost him everything. A precious half-second later, Malyana was back on her feet and her hands flashed into position for a sight picture.

That's when the second explosion took place.

It was stronger than the first, and it sent both of them flying across half the warehouse. This time their landings were pretty fair; Jim went headfirst into a box of office supplies and Malyana shoulder-first into a pile of books. The third explosion didn't even wait for them to get up. By now the thought of killing each other was beginning to fade as the instinct for self-preservation took precedence.

The continued explosions temporarily blinded Malyana's eyes with a haze of flour. She had landed without her pistol so she reached blindly, frantically for the Beretta in the debris. Somehow she managed to find it and bring it to her chest.

Malyana eventually wiped away the dust in her eyes, but it was already too late. The last thing she saw of Jim was his butt scrambling up and disappearing through the window. The thought to shoot him crossed her mind but her body paid no heed to it. Instead, it was focused on escaping this hell of fire, dust and chaos. She clambered over the collapsed shelf on all fours like an fleeing animal and darted for the backdoor from which she had entered the warehouse.

By the time she got outside even the adrenaline wasn't enough to keep her going. The operative made it five steps out the door before her knees gave way and she collapsed on the pavement. The stinging pain in her shoulder, courtesy of the Jim's kitchen knife, was now coming into focus. Her Beretta pistol felt heavy in her tired hands. She tried to reach over and check the chamber but her hand slipped and the pistol clattered to the ground.

Malyana looked ruefully at her Beretta 92F, coated in grime and smoking with vapors from the being so close to her fiery hands. The chrome-coating, once slick with finish, had worn away from decades of extended use. Thousands of rounds passing through the barrel had chipped away at the muzzle's threading. Even the silver grip of the pistol seemed dull and faded.

She remembered the first time she had held it, when she was but a girl of eighteen, and how beautiful and elegant the pistol had felt in her calloused fingers. She remembered how much it had meant to her, something that she had forgotten during her time amidst the shadows, amidst the cloak and dagger, the killing and the darkness. Now it was just an ugly piece of equipment, a lifeless tool that served its purpose tirelessly, without recognition, until it broke down and could do no more. Then it would be discarded and unceremoniously replaced.

But she did not give up. And she did not forget. She was too old, too experienced, _too good,_ to simply do so. And she knew she could not. Malyana had fought too long and too hard to die like this. The difference is that unlike a thousand times before, this time she knew what she was fighting for. She was no longer a pawn mindlessly following orders. She was doing all this for herself.

_For him. _

Somewhere deep in her tired, battered soul Malyana found the strength to get up. She hobbled over to a dumpster behind the warehouse. But it was not just any dumpster. It was _her _dumpster.

She knew that it was too late to hunt down the boy. Judging by the increasingly louder and more violent eruptions that echoed from inside the warehouse, soon it might not even be safe to be in the same neighborhood. Malyana had once seen how a small room filled with ammonia nitrate blew up and took out an entire whole floor of a skyscraper. For all she knew there could be explosives within the warehouse as well.

She gnashed her teeth.

_The kid got away. _

But the sounds of rapidly approaching sirens reminded Malyana of her own situation. There were people hunting her as well; powerful, well-organized, well-equipped professionals. Soon there will be dogs, helicopters, armored cars, and tactical teams all swarming to the same spot, looking for anything that they can put a burst of automatic fire into.

Jim was the least of her concerns.

Malyana slipped the pistol back into her shoulder holster and reached into the dumpster. She fished around for a bit before finally pulling out the prepared backpack. She quickly produced a hoodie and some napkins. Without stopping for a pause, she got up and started off in a jog. Meanwhile she threw the clean hoodie over her tattered clothes and wiped her face free of the blood and dust. Then she tied her hair up in a bun before quickly slapping on her wig. The thick set glasses came last.

By then, she was a good block away from the warehouse. Even though she could tell that they were closing in fast on the location, Malyana knew that the first responders would invariably be local Anti-Skill patrol units, not professional counterintelligence officers. This gave her a good head start.

Malyana zigzagged her way through the narrow alleyways and soon disappeared into the maze of deserted buildings, leaving only the empty 9x19 Parabellum casings in the warehouse as witnesses.

* * *

The door slammed shut with a crash. With shaking hands, Jim managed to take out the camera and place it on the surface – what exactly he couldn't tell, not with the blood in his eyes – before he collapsed on the floor of his dorm room. Later, he would thank himself for having the foresight of keeping the dorm keys on his body.

Jim was fine, really.

He was _just_ fine.

Sure, there was blood dripping down his face. Yes, a nasty concussion was reverberating through his head and every breath he took was a labor of pain. Then there were of course the assorted bruises and cuts that one would naturally sustain after a long day of good, honest work. But it was all good, because no matter how much it hurt, Jim knew that he would survive. He's been through worse in his day.

The real problem wasn't that.

It wasn't his fatigue or his wounds. His real problem was something else completely. He knew that _it_ would come calling, sooner or later. What he had experienced on Friday night after it had first tasted Malyana was merely an appetizer. With generous amount of fire in the warehouse, it must have eaten its fill, the most it has had in a long time. The last time this happened he had spent an entire day writhing about in a ditch filled with decomposing bodies. Not because he wanted to stay there, but because he simply didn't have the presence of mind even _consider_ getting up.

The real problem was his left arm.

Despite his fatigue, Jim forced himself to his feet. He knew he needed to make the best use of his time while he was still able to move and think clearly. A strange melancholy overcame him as he looked around his new dorm room. It was great! A single bed, a small kitchen, and what looks to be a simple bathroom. He's never lived in such luxury before. It's a shame that he didn't come to it under better circumstances.

Jim limped into the bathroom.

He gingerly took off his electrician's jumpsuit, peeling the cloth off his bloodied wounds, and cut a section of it off with a pair of scissors he found. Then he wrapped it into a ball and ran it under the sink. The next step was to check for a towel, although if he couldn't find one he could always cut more of jumpsuit. _Ah, ha!_ Jim found a good, clean towel in the bathroom. _It'll do_. He checked his fingernails. It was coated in soot and grime from the warehouse, but Jim was still satisfied. _It's short._ A couple of splashes on his face and out he went, wet rag in hand.

On his way out he opened the fridge knowing that he would be disappointed. No alcohol, of course not. Of course not.

_I'd kill for a good chilled bottle of Rajdka right now. _

He slowly sat down on his bed. That's when he saw the piece of the brochure on the low table. It was hidden beneath some other papers about electrical bills and waste disposal. But Jim did not miss it, not with its earmarked corner and red pen lying beside it.

Jim knew what it was before he even opened it. A long heavy sigh escaped his lips. It made sense. After all, he was supposed to have gone to the station on Saturday. They of course knew what happened to him. It was their business to know. But he also knew that they didn't care.

He flipped through it until he saw what he was looking for. The ear-marked page was titled "Events in Academy City". A red circle was placed on some random event. Below it were the words, written in nondescript handwriting: "18:00 Sunday latest, do not miss." There was no need for an address since he was told of it before he left Sofia. Jim looked at the wall clock.

It was 12:00 in the afternoon.

_I have time. _he thought as the pain finally arrived, _I have time. _

As always the contractions came first, sending ripples of involuntary and painful spasms through his arm. He knew that for now it would be contained to there. He also knew that slowly, steadily, it would begin to spread all over his body. Eventually, it would feel like he pulled every muscle in his body simultaneously. The pain would be blinding, absolutely consuming, and if he was lucky – which he rarely was – he would faint from it before it got too bad.

If he was still awake, the contractions would be followed by the fire; an insatiable ache that drove him mad with its hunger. He knew that he would invariably start digging and grinding his nails against his skin until they drew blood. Years and years of experience had taught him that it was all futile, that it did nothing to relieve his pain, and yet every time the ache came it still happened. After all, the falsehoods of reason have no power over raw, primordial pain.

Once the contractions and the ache finally went away, a deep, suffocating sleep would descend upon him. It always started in his legs, slowly eating away until he could neither feel nor control it. Then it would work its way upwards, methodically crippling his body and leaving nothing but the void in its wake. The worst part was when swept it swept over his chest because by then his lungs would collapse and his heart would cease its rhythm. What he never understood was why the asphyxiation never led to unconsciousness. Or better yet, death. He would always be awake not matter how much his brain screamed for oxygen. That meant that the feeling of being suffocated, desperately craving for oxygen, never went away.

He never lost consciousness, not until it waltzed its way up his neck and over his eyes.

By then he would lose control of his eyes, no longer able to hide behind the darkness of his eyelids. He would invariably spend the last moments with them wide open, and the scorching pain would shoot through his skull as the thick murky darkness overwhelmed his vision.

And then, finally, the sweet release of nothingness.

He placed the wet rag in his mouth and bit down on it as the second wave of contractions began. He knew he had to make sure not to bite too hard, because at one point he would need to release it for the vomit to flow out. His belt came off quickly as he gathered the towel and set everything in position. With shaking hands he took the towel and expertly wrapped both hands into it, like an oversized boxing mitten. Then, using his feet to hold on to one end and pulling on the other with his teeth, the prepositioned belt snapped tightly around the bundle, trapping his hands in the towel.

Practice makes perfect.

He knew, of course, that when the frenzy began in earnest he would struggle with such force that such crude restraints would eventually break. But it would still buy him a fair bit of time.

Finally, he slipped into the sheets and took great care to lie on his side, not on his back. He had learned that while he could experience inexplicable pain and impossible sensations throughout an episode, once he lost consciousness all the normal_ human_ rules applied again.

He still remembered that one time when he got through a particularly nasty episode – cruel, merciless pain of inhuman proportions, yet still irrefutably alive throughout – only to come within an inch of death when he woke up choking on his own vomit. All because he was laying on his back when the vomiting started, allowing the bile to accumulate in his throat. After that he never slept on his back ever again.

_Oh well._

The third wave of contractions began, and Jim couldn't help but smile to himself. No matter how many times he experienced it, no matter how familiar the pain was, its intensity never ceased to surprise him. Despite their long acquaintance Jim could never really say he _knew _it. The contractions subsided presently, regrouping for another blow, and he took the moment of respite to curl into a tight ball beneath the blanket. He prayed that the next round would be bad enough to make him faint.

In that moment, right then and there, pain was the only reality that existed for Jim.

_I have time. _

_I'll be fine._

* * *

"Please…please help her"

Her shadowy finger slowly brushed itself across his hair. The tip felt cold and sharp. But this sensation was a welcome distraction for him; a welcome distraction from the sagging weight of his chest rig, the dirty black bandanna pressing against his head, the thin strap of the Kalashnikov rifle digging into his shoulder, and of course, the damp, lifeless body he held gently in his arms.

"Why should I? She was already meant for me, was she not?"

"P-please, I'll do anything. You must save her."

Her finger slowly traced its path from his jaw down to his shoulder. A shiver ran down his spine.

"Anything? You will do anything?"

"Yes. Please."

"Anything…to save her?"

He closed his eyes and remembered the little girl, dancing round and round in the meadow with the wreath of flowers on her head, her puffy cheeks glowing under the sunlight.

"Yes. Anything."

Suddenly he felt himself floating upwards, as if he was in a dream. A strange trance came over him and everything seemed to fade away; the war, her death, his own life. They all began to lose any sense of meaning to him. He saw the darkness silently swirling around him, thickening and darkening, but he felt no fear. Instead a peculiar calm settled in his chest.

She whispered in his ear.

"I can try to keep her alive…but nothing is free, my child."

"Yes. Anything."

"A life for a life?"

"A life for a life."

Her frosty breath disappeared from his ear.

His vision was now nothing but an inky darkness. For a second he thought that he must have gone blind, or that his eyes were closed, or that he was standing in a moonless night. But he soon realized that was not the case.

A smile materialized in front of him; a wide crooked smile. Then the mouth opened wider and wider still, and by now he could see the long sharp teeth gnashing and grinding against each other. It terrible noise sounded like a thousand blade being sharpened together. Two red orbs of fire materialized above the ghastly smile. He saw now that even her eyes were contorted into a narrow grin. The thought to say something, to protest, occurred vaguely to him, but he could not muster the will or the mind to do so. With dreamy eyes, he observed her long fingers extending out towards the girl in his hands. Her sharp fangs wrapped itself around something hanging on her neck.

"What a lovely little locket."

* * *

_Breathe, you fucker._

Jim stared at the puddle of puke in front of him. It occurred to him that it was quite clear in color. Most likely because he hadn't really eaten anything substantial in the last couple of days. Maybe next time he should fast before an episode.

_Breathe! _

But he knew, deep down, there was a part of him that secretly did not want him to breathe. _Let it end_, the voice said, _let the pain end. _After all, he knew that one day, eventually, he would wake up and lose all semblance of control. And it would be quick too. They had taught him that all it took was five minutes of being deprived for oxygen to kill someone. That wasn't too bad. Five minutes is nothing compared to an episode.

But even if Jim's mind decided on doing that, his body had a mind of its own. After all, it wanted to live, to survive. So no matter how hopeless it was, his damned body just kept on trying.

_I said, BREATHE!_

Finally, a small rush of air entered his nose. Slowly, gradually, his breaths became longer and deeper. _Not today, I guess. _So Jim simply laid there, between the puddles of his own puke, simply breathing in and out, listening to his own nose inhaling and exhaling, feeling his lungs expanding and contracting. It was a good way to pass the time while he regained control of his body.

Finally, he sat up on his bed and slowly stretched his hands.

"A fucking episode _and _a dream? I guess today really is my lucky day!"

When he finally regained control of his entire, he slowly hobbled to the sink and downed a couple cups of tap water. They tasted like ambrosia from the pond of the gods. The cool sensation of the water flowing down his parched throat made him close his eyes. He even felt a stir in his heart. For a long time, he simply stood there, listening to the dust floating across the air, feeling the cool ceramic tiles beneath his feet, and simply _breathing. _

Jim was still alive.

He smiled at the absurdity of it. Then he started to giggle, and the giggles turned into chortles and finally he started to laugh. Jim stood there like a madman, with his eyes closed, and simply howled with laughter.

_I am still alive!_

Jim methodically went through every part of his body, moving them, controlling them, and _feeling_ them. He felt his lungs inhaling and exhaling air, just like it's supposed to. He placed a finger to his throat and felt his pulse beating in a steady rhythm. He ran his fingers across the wet surface of sink, feeling the droplets of water brush against his skin. Even his troublesome left arm was quiet and compliant.

He was not in pain.

It was a simple pleasure that Jim had learned to appreciate. It was the simple joy of being without pain, the simple joy of being in good health, the simple joy of having control of your own limbs, your own body. Well, calling it a pleasure may be misleading. A more accurate term would the absence of something negative. The absence of pain.

But to Jim, it made no difference.

It was the euphoria of _being alive._

Just as that thought crossed his mind reality knocked him in the head and everything came crashing down. He was still covered in wounds. He was still exhausted from a long day of fighting. His mind was tired and depleted, and it pained him whenever he tried to think of something complicated.

_Okay, okay, I get it. Fun's over. Back to work._

Jim looked around at his dorm. It was an absolute fucking mess. The entre dorm was swimming in vomit. It kind of amazed him how spread out and numerous they were, some of them quite far from the bed. But then again he remembered having a full three-course episode, so he probably started to move around what the pain got particularly bad. He also had the sneaking suspicion that he probably obtained a couple of new wounds and bruises, but that was not important.

Jim had things to do and places to be.

He reached for the digital camera lying on the kitchen counter. It was covered in soot and ash but when he pressed the power button it turned on like nothing was wrong.

_I have wronged you, Mr. ¥3500 camera. You are a tough little fucker. Forgive me for doubting you._

He checked the image quality of the day's pictures. They were all intact and in good shape. He placed it back down and scratched his head like an elementary schoolboy. What else did he have to do today? In the back of his head a little voice reminded him that he had something very important to do…

_The station!_

A thunderbolt of panic shot through his heart. He quickly leaned over the kitchen counter and looked at the wall clock. It was 4:00 PM in the afternoon. A wave of relief flowed over him. He still had two hours. But he also remembered that it would take him some time to reach the station, at least according to the address given to him by the Sofia station. So there was that.

That's when he vaguely remembered Yomikawa shouting at him in the interrogation room. "Blah blah blah, Anti-Skill Station! Monday morning!" she had said, "blah blah blah…bring a uniform!" An incredulous look formed on his face. It was already Sunday afternoon, how the fuck was he supposed to get a uniform?

Poor Jim could only curse his luck. Here he was, torn between his two duty stations, each demanding his full and exclusive commitment. Granted, this was his _real station_ but Yomikawa did not look like someone who cared about such minor technicalities. It's not like he can get written note from his station chief saying "Dear Ms. Yomikawa, I need Mr. Jim's time because I need to work my little mongrel to bone and send him out to die. So fuck off."

He shook his head with familiar resignation.

Jim turned around and splashed some water on his face. He knew that his baggage had arrived before him and was waiting for him at a nearby delivery service. He can find some clean clothes there. He can also withdraw some more money from the bank if he needed anything, but he realized that his account was beginning to get dangerously empty.

Regardless, the priority right now is to get to the duty station on time. He'll have to figure out the rest later.

He stretched his neck and started walking towards the shower. That's when he stepped on a puddle of his own vomit and started gliding – like an true Olympic ice-skater – towards his bed. But Jim did not panic! He simply maintained his posture and held course…and proceeded to stub his toe on a leg of the table.

"OWWWW!"

A terrible, unmanly yelp of pain came out of his mouth as he bent over, clutching his wounded toe.

_It fucking hurts like a bitch! _

Just as that thought finished forming, a smile materialized on Jim's face.

_Yes, it hurts so much! So terribly painful! _

He started to laugh again.

_It's so painful! I can't bear it! I will kill myself! Such, terrible, inhuman pain!_

A dull ache nibbled away at his left arm.

"Okay, okay, I get it, no more fun. Gotta go places and do stuff."

He stepped into the shower and turned the water on, full blast, specifically making sure to set the temperature to the coldest possible. Then he took a deep breath and stepped underneath it. The icy jet of water pierced his skin and made him howl in shock. But he endured it, letting it assaulting and numb every inch of body. He did not flinch even when the icy streams washed over his wounds. The water hit his head in clear streams and flowed onto the tiled floor in red waves.

Jim felt the sluggishness and fog in his head being washed away by the cold tide. He knew that he would need a clear mind when he got to the station. He needed to be on his toes mentally. He would be walking into a lair of snarling animals, all eyeing each other with cold calculating eyes, sniffing for any scent of weakness.

Finally, he stepped out of the shower.

It was time to dance with jackals.

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 9/11/2020 (?)

Last reuploaded: 7/12/2020

Word count: 4337


	5. Baptism Epilogue

_Author's Notes:_

_This chapter's contents were originally part of Chapter 4, but I cut it into a new chapter because it was too long. _**The segment here contains the Dollmaker scene**_._

_If you know what I'm talking about, then you've probably already read this part. The segment here is a revised and modified version with some new additions. _

_If you don't know what I'm talking about, then don't worry! Just read it and have fun._

**However it is very important that you read the Author's Notes at the end of this chapter! **

**Don't skip that! **

**There's important information about this story that you need to know if you want to continue reading! **

* * *

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

BAPTISM

Epilogue

* * *

-x-

* * *

Slowly, carefully, Jim made his way through the winding alleyways and curving streets. A cold wind blew in from the east and he clutched his sweater closer. His wounds were still burning with pain, although it was a lot better now. A quick look behind him: no tail. The sun was beginning to set and a couple of street lights came to life, blinking on and off. Jim stepped quietly along the path and turned into the final alleyway. He checked the surroundings again, with the adress he had memorized, to make sure he was in the right place. Yes, yes, the address was correct.

He walked through the narrow alleyway and came to an unbelievable scene. He found himself facing a series of beautiful, sloping mountains in the distance. Along the path right in front of him was a large flowing river.

Incredible.

He did not know it was possible for a place like this to exist within Academy City. But then again he was at its very edges. He looked around and saw all the other buildings facing the other way, all with their backs to the river and the mountain ridge. There were no windows from the surrounding buildings that could get a view of where he was standing.

Perfect cover.

Jim turned to see his new station. It was a plain two-storied brick building with no defining characteristics. He saw that there were windows but he knew that curtains covered them 24/7.

But when Jim's eyes carefully scoured the building it slowly came to life. The bricks were old, aged, unlike those found in the city center. The windows had a very peculiar taint to them. There was even hint of personality lurking behind its boring rectangular shape.

It was one of those things where looking at it reminded you of something, but what exactly you could not recall. It was like a quick fleeting thought that skirted past your mind and only left you with the vague notion that you've forgotten something important; an answer to a question that you did even know you had.

It was a relic from another time, an older time, which had quietly hidden itself away, away from the tall skyscrapers and modern offices, in a secret corner of Academy City that you would only find if you knew where to look.

So this was Jim's _real _station.

He walked up to the door and turned the metal handle. It opened noiselessly. Jim stepped forwards and found himself at the front of a store. There was an empty counter illuminated by a yellowing lightbulb. The heavy scent of freshly carved wood permeated in the air. He looked around at the products.

Wooden dolls.

There were hundreds and hundreds of them, lining up every single part of the wall and filling all of the stands. He took a closer look. They all seemed personally handcrafted and painted, each decorated elaborately with dresses and clothing. They were from all walks and stations of life. Jim recognized princesses, soldiers, queens, wizards, and even a vampire. After marveling at the sheer diversity and size of the collection, he eventually spotted the dark doorway next to the counter leading further inside.

He slowly approached the doorway and looked inside. It was a staircase leading down to another room. And at the end of it he saw a speck of light. For some reason, the thought of walking down the dark staircase greatly unnerved Jim. Still, he bit his cheek and made his way down slowly, taking care to not to slip and to be silent. The wooden boards, however, creaked and moaned with each step he took.

Finally, he arrived at the bottom and peeked inside the basement.

It was a room covered by traditional tatami floorboards and filled with even more wooden dolls. But amidst the mountains of figures there was an old man sitting on the floor, bent over his low desk, working away at a doll. He had only a dim yellow lamp for illumination. This light flickered and danced within the low, drooping 18th century spectacles on his nose.

Jim narrowed his eyes to get a better look but the light was too dim for him to make out any details. All he could tell was that the man – somewhere between his mid-forties to early fifties – was dressed in some sort of traditional Japanese clothing; a simple blue dress.

Jim would later learn that it was called a samue; the traditional working clothes of Japanese Buddhist monks.

Strangely, the man was undoubtedly a foreigner. Jim reckoned him to be someone from Eastern Europe. Czech perhaps, Slovak? Moldovan? Perhaps even someone from Sofia.

Jim was still observing him when the old man raised his hands and gestured at him. Jim walked out of the shadows and into the light.

"So, you must be the mongrel," the old man stated matter-of-factly, without looking up from his doll.

Jim straightened his back.

"Yes sir. I'm here to report for duty."

"You're late."

"I…ah, ran into –"

The dollmaker waved his hand dismissively and Jim stopped talking.

"Let's start with the basics. I am your station chief and you report to me. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now pray tell me, what station you hail from."

Jim blinked.

_Technically…_

"The Sofia station, sir."

"Fair enough. How long did you work there and what did you do?"

"I was there for two-and-a-half years. I was mainly engaged in support duties."

The old man shook his head sadly.

"Mongrels, mongrels everywhere! Never thought I'd live to see the day. Times really are changing, huh?"

Jim knew of course that the chief had already read his file in advance and knew everything there was to know about him. All of this was just a series of formalities to ensure that Jim was not under the delusion that he could hide any of his past from them.

What he found peculiar was how the old man did not look him in the eye. Instead, he had his back turned sideways to Jim, his eyes downcast, working on the doll. They had taught him in training that eye contact was very important. The eyes were the windows into a person's soul. Steady eye contact meant confidence. An averted gaze meant guilt, submission, or fear.

Perhaps Jim was not worthy of even being looked at?

"Well then, did the spooks in Sofia manage to teach you anything?"

"Yes sir. I had some basic training in intelligence operations."

"Anything tactical?"

Jim's jaws tightened slightly.

"…I have some experience, sir."

A knowing smile spread across the old man's face. He said one word:

"Krahkozia."

"Yes," Jim answered simply.

"Lovely country…" the old man said, followed by a pause, "…terrible shame."

Jim opened his mouth to say something but it turned into a whisper, spoken more to himself than anyone in particular.

"If it's a crow…"

"…then let it be shaggy," the old man finished for him.

A muscle in Jim's face twitched but he remained silent.

"True, true," the dollmaker continued amicably, "but it didn't need to be _that_ shaggy, did it?"

_Not shaggy enough, _Jim thought darkly.

The chief put down the paintbrush and reached for another, smaller, nimbler one. He delicately wet it in a porcelain cup and continued his work. Jim realized that while every doll upstairs was painted and finished, everyone here was still in their blank wooden shells. Right now the chief seemed to be applying the finishing touches to a soldier.

"There is nothing to worry about. We will teach you everything you need to know and train you in everything you need to do. Any questions?"

"Sir, is this the…official station of Academy City?"

The old man chuckled.

"Listen here, mongrel, I'll tell you this for free, no charge. You're not overseas anymore. You're in The City now. Out there in the wild it's only two stations per city, one for us and the other for the snakes, if they have any at all. After all, there's not much counterintelligence work to done in foreign adventures. Here the rules are different. There are many different stations in Academy City, each of them housing a full complement of operation teams and support staff. So, no, this is not the official station of Academy City."

"Understood, sir. Another question: Is my position a…foreign service or counterintelligence role?"

"To answer your question, your billet is that of an intelligence-officer-in-training, assigned to a general duties post. But don't get too full of yourself, you're still a mongrel. As for your duties, you will do whatever that is required or asked of you, without asking pointless questions too."

The dollmaker blew lightly on his doll to dry the fresh paint.

"Before you start worrying, _no, _you are not a snake. Neither am I. When you started they must have told you that once you _don the black_, the only way out is either the chimney or the dust. That will never change."

Jim nodded silently.

"Anything else?"

"No, sir."

"Did Anti-Skill give you any trouble?"

Jim shifted nervously.

"Sir, there was this woman…Yomikawa Aiho. She seemed to know…well, she –"

"– saw right through your cover. And knew you were a mongrel."

Jim nodded awkwardly.

"Is she one of ours?"

"No. Neither is she a snake."

"Oh."

"Say, you didn't think _she_ was your station chief, did you?"

"…I did," Jim admitted sheepishly, "She was _good_, sir. I thought –"

The dollmaker threw his head back in quiet laugher.

"Of course you did. And yes, she _is_ good. That's _the _Yomikawa after all. She's your Anti-Skill lieutenant, right? Don't worry, she is well acquainted with us. Just keep your mouth shut and live your cover and she'll leave you alone. After all, just like Anti-Skill we in the black also have Academy City's best interests in mind."

The old man put the finishing touches on his doll and put it down. He reached under the table and pulled out a sealed paper file. He placed the file on the desk facing towards Jim. He still did not look him in the eye.

"In here you will find instructions, some money, and an encrypted phone. Keep the phone on you at all times. We will contact you with it. Never come to this place unless you have been summoned. You will be arranged training sessions and operational briefings when the time comes."

"Yes sir."

Jim secretly sighed with relief. He had expected much, much worse from the station. He walked forwards with restrained relief in his steps and reached down to take the file, already thinking of liberation.

That's when the knife came flashing downwards and embedded itself squarely between Jim's middle and index fingers. His eyes widened as he recognized the short kitchen knife's cheap plastic handle, charred black and half-melted by the fire. There was even some flour dust still on the blade.

Jim looked up quickly and found himself staring into the cold unblinking eyes of a jackal.

"You blew up the warehouse."

That was his trick. For the entirety of the conversation, he had avoided Jim's eyes. Then suddenly he made of it swiftly and mercilessly. He had the cruel, piercing eyes of a true jackal: they were the real veterans, the quiet professionals, and the tip of the spear of Academy City's black intelligence service.

Jim was hopelessly unprepared for it.

"I…ah…" he stammered.

"Listen here, and listen well, because I am only going to say this once. Unlike Anti-Skill or them snakes, I am _not_ and _never will_ _be_ in the mood to listen to any of your shitty half-baked lies. And I don't particularly care, either. All that matters is that _you follow my orders to the letter the moment I give them to you_. And whatever the fuck it is that you do in your free time, you better not make a mistake or fuck with the wrong people. We saved your mongrel ass from the killing fields, and if you do something stupid I _will not_ hesitate to feed you to the dogs. There are plenty of others who would kill for your place. So if you ever decide to do anything unsanctioned, you better fight the right people, and you better _fucking win_."

Jim tried to swallow but a knot formed in his throat. The jackal sat back down onto the floor, his eyes still fixed in an unrelenting gaze. He effortlessly pulled the knife – embedded deeply in the table – out in one swift, fluid motion.

"Now, why the fuck did you blow up the warehouse, and what were you doing there? And don't you fucking dare lie to me."

Jim opened his mouth to try but it took one look from the jackal and the ground disappeared beneath his feet.

"They took something from me. Something precious. By accident. I wanted to get it back."

"And just exactly what _precious something_ did they take from you? Your virginity?"

"An heirloom," Jim barely managed, "from Krahkozia, sir."

The jackal's eyes pierced at him, searching for any signs of weakness or guilt. Then he scoffed and a nasty smile spread across his face. He knew that Jim could not lie to him.

"You mongrels are fucking idiots. Every last one of you. I don't care if they took your mother's ashes. Drop. That. Shit. If the team you hit wasn't a dud you'd be long dead. They were absolute amateurs, even worse than your lot. And also, count your lucky stars that your mongrel ass is still intact and not burnt to a crisp."

"Who is that woman, sir? She was power –"

He shot him another icy glare. Jim wilted.

_Pointless questions._

"Other else than blowing-it-the-fuck-up, what did you find at the warehouse?"

That's when a sudden pain suddenly shot through Jim's left arm. He hadn't yet learned to withstand the chief's powerful eyes. The sharp sensation brought a certain clarity to his mind; something Jim desperately needed.

"Nothing," Jim barely managed, "the esper burned the place down before I recovered anything."

The thought of his cheap digital camera, lying nakedly out in the open on his dorm's kitchen counter…

Luckily for him the jackal already had his mind elsewhere.

"Burn? Fucking blew the place to pieces is more like it. There's nothing left. They heard that blast from the other end of Academy City. Well, not like I give a shit. It's the snakes' mess now and they are scrambling over each other's tails to catch her. Knowing how useless those imbeciles are, I doubt they will manage."

"Should I…what should I do if I come across her again?"

"Report to me immediately. I don't expect much from you so just try to delay her. And, don't get yourself killed; it gives us jackals a bad name. But if you have another chance to make her blow something up, do it. In other words, anything to embarrass our scaled colleagues is always good."

He raised the paper file and handed it to Jim.

Jim considered asking him about the girl with ashen hair but thought better of it. He had pushed his luck enough for one day. He meekly took the file and slid it inside his sweater. Just as he began to turn, intending to flee from the small suffocating room with all of its creepy dolls and the snarling jackal, he was stopped.

The dollmaker stopped him.

He took the newly finished soldier and blew on it facetiously. Then he handed it to him with a serene smile. Jim stared at it for a moment, stupefied, before accepting it with uncertain hands.

The smooth surface, freshly coated with paint, brushed against his palm as the doll fell into place. Jim understood then, and only then, who it was meant for. It was not a doll of a soldier but that of a guerilla fighter, an insurgent.

Like in a distant dream, Jim recognized the patchwork pattern of the webbing on his chest, the distinctive Kalashnikov with its chipped foregrip, and of course, the unmistakable black bandana slung proudly across his head.

For the first time Jim raised his gaze and, without fear, stared into the eyes of the man sitting in front of him.

"Not bad, right?" the old jackal smiled cruelly, "I think it really captures your…_essence._"

Jim nodded.

"Try pushing on his stomach."

He did.

His stomach gave away with a creak with and the hidden razor cut into Jim's thumb. Then suddenly the blood was everywhere. It came out overflowing from every part of his body; his eyes, his limbs, his stomach, everywhere. The little man in Jim's hands bled and bled like an unending fountain. It was difficult to imagine how a small doll could have so much blood inside it. The fresh paint mingled quickly with his blood – real, human blood, Jim could tell from its viscosity – and the beautiful doll turned into a mutilated corpse; into an unspeakable horror.

"Now you can throw it into the Kosar river, just like the last war! Quite authentic, isn't it?"

The jackal reached for a glass of wine.

"Oh, and don't worry, that's clean blood. You won't get AIDS or anything like that from it."

"What do I call you, sir?"

"Sir. Chief. Master. God. My Hero. Any of those will do."

"No, I meant your name, sir."

The jackal smiled slightly as he raised the glass of red wine to his lips.

"I don't think you'll live long enough for that to matter, Jakov. But tell you what, if you ever become a real jackal one day, then I'll consider telling you. But a curious factoid for you: everyone who knows my name is dead, and that is a tradition I intend to uphold."

Jim nodded at him. He held Jim's gaze for a moment before nodding back. Then the dollmaker stretched his neck and reached for another empty shell, beginning his work anew. Jim turned away slowly, with the doll in his hands, and began climbing up the stairs. But this time he was not afraid. Instead, he embraced it as he ascended from the darkness.

When Jim arrived at the top he heard the jackal called out to him, from his lair below:

"May She come to you in silence, and with grace!"

A dull ache ate its way through Jim's arm as he stepped out into the night. The spring night greeted him gently. He felt a cool breeze coming down from the mountains and fluttering across the river. The sound of the water flowing past suddenly became overpowering. He took the doll in his bloodied hands and tossed it far, far out into the river.

Jim didn't even hear a splash.

Three days.

Jim had been in Academy City for three days; Friday, Saturday and today, Sunday. In this period of time he took out a team, got arrested, questioned and then fought a old experienced operative within to an inch of his life. He also had the pleasure of eating a full three-course-episode.

But none of that meant anything to him.

_The locket._

It was the locket that she had given to him, the last memento he had from her, something that he had carried on him till the end of war, and through his time in Sofia's shadows.

It was the promise that he had made that day.

_All lost._

The image of the girl came to him, the small girl with ashen hair and deep green eyes, her grey hair fluttering across her face, standing on the edge of the bridge's railings. He remembered the shining light in the darkness, the light that disappeared into her chest.

She took it from him.

Another wind blew in, but this time it was from the city. It was cold and harsh. Jim rubbed his nose and pulled his sweater closer to his body. The pain of his wounds was now nothing but a familiar afterthought. Instead, the old jackal's words echoed in his head. The ache gripped his left arm again.

Jim turned around and, after another inane check, disappeared into the dark alleyways.

_Well, the joke's on you, _he thought, _I've already met the lying bitch. _

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 2/12/2020

Last modified: 7/12/2020

Word count: 3356

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_(Be warned, very long! But also very important!)_

**Intro**

_Hello reader, thank you for reading so far into this shoddy, poorly-written story. Since this is the epilogue of this story's first arc, please allow me to answer some questions you may have. _

_Even if you are not interested in these questions, we need clear up some expectations you may have of this Magical Index fanwork. I don't want readers to get 100 chapters in only to realize they've been cheated and falsely advertised to about what will be in the story. _

_Should you want to keep reading the story, it is important that we are on the same page._

_So dear reader, please indulge me, humor me, as we go through these questions. _

**Where is Touma?**

_First of all, let's get the obvious out of the way: _

**Touma will not be part of this story. In fact, he will not exist in this version of the Magical Index world at all. **

_That is not because I think he is a bad character. I actually like him a lot. It's just that I don't think he would fit in the story I'm trying to tell_**.**

**If that is a deal-breaker for you, feel free to stop reading. I completely understand your decision.**

_I've always wondered what would happen if someone different from Touma was present during some of the canon events. And Jim is, in many ways, very different from Touma. However in certain ways he is also eerily similar to the spiky-haired boy._

**Is the Index Universe still the same?**

_Kind of, but there are notable differences._

_Yes, I understand that a lot of Magical Index universe is built around Touma, and I have made the necessary changes to the world-building. Like why the city even exists in the first place. The reason why I labeled this story AU is because a lot of plot elements and characters from canon are changed, some of them quite significantly. However I think you will still be able to recognize most of them._

_There are also some minor changes to certain events in history, but nothing dramatic. So no, Hitler did not win WWII. In any case, that is still a long way off before it becomes relevant._

**Does Jim have the Imagine Breaker?**

_Short answer: No._

_Long answer: No. _

_For those who are wondering, Jim does indeed have something vaguely similar (but not the same) to the Imagine Breaker. However aside from the way it's used, meaning its ability of negating powers and magic, _**it is a completely different thing on its own_. _**_The back story of it is also completely different, something which will be explored in later arcs. You can also tell from this chapter that there is a hefty price to pay each time it is used. _

_So in that aspect, I'm afraid anything you've read from the new Index novels or the anime will not help you. _

_But no dragons, lol. _

**What is the pacing/timeline of this story?**

_The Index timeline of the LN and Anime takes place basically in 6 months. It is planned for this story to span over 3 – 4 years of in universe time. So most canon events' timings have been changed as needed. The pacing will be very methodical since a lot of stuff have my own spin on it so I need to introduce them properly. It's just that if you want to see certain moments in canon you have to patient. I need time to properly set it up. _

_But don't worry, that doesn't mean that things will be boring. There will be a lot of things going on in every arc. _

**Is Jim a self-insert?**

_Good god, no. Why would I want to be him? Sure, you might think he is some badass spy…but just wait. You as a reader don't know what's coming._

_And boy, oh boy, is Jim's going to be in trouble._

**Is Jim a Gary-Stu?**

_No. _

_But that's exactly what a writer writing a Gary-Stu self-insert would say, right? _

_In that case I'm afraid I have no way to prove you wrong. Not yet anyways. I can only encourage you to keep reading (hence the not yet). All I can say is that Jim has worked very hard for every skill he has. He has also suffered a lot. If you want to find out why or how…then keep reading! I already have his backstory all planned out. _

_The point is, ma boi Jim's been through a lot. Give him some credit. Or slack. Or a bit of both. _

**Special Shout Out!**

_I need to give a special shout out to Brosephg, whose kind words have been great motivation for me to keep writing. He is a regular in the Index community who always leave interesting and well-thought out reviews. Honestly after I wrote the first chapter I never thought to continue writing, thinking that surely nobody will read this stuff. However, reading his review (first ever!) made me think that I should continue. I'm pretty sure this story will never get a lot of attention (because people understandably want to read about Touma) but I continued writing because the story I made up in my mind just had to come out, somewhere. _

_Also Brosephg, I think you are the only person who actually read Chapter 2 lol. _

_I admit the conversation in that scene might have been too indulgent and long for most readers to stomach. I will try to put other stuff in future chapters with heavy dialogue. I hope this chapter with the dollmaker is a good start! _

* * *

_Honestly, I expect – with 1,000% certainty, in fact – that this story will remain _**absolutely obscure**_ throughout it's entire life. And I say this knowing that this story would take, at minimum, _**years' worth of updates and 500K+ words to finish**.

_I'm fine with that. _

_Honestly it makes perfect sense because most people want to read about Touma and this story is that not that. _

_So if you are here, reading this, then lol you're one of the few who have stumbled into this weird corner of Anime fanfiction! _

_Enjoy...I guess? _

_Alright, I've rambled on long enough. See you all next chapter. _


	6. Sigils I

_Author's Notes:_

_Hello and welcome (back)! This chapter is more chill and slower paced because needs to set up the pieces for the rest of the arc. However there's lots of interesting things happening as well!_

_So, dear readers, just take it easy, chill, and enjoy the little skits between Jim and Yomikawa!_

_This chapter is also quite a bit longer than the chapters posted so far!_

* * *

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

**SIGILS**

**I **

* * *

-x-

* * *

_I need a computer._

Or more specifically, Jim needed the internet. He reached for the digital camera and checked the image of the magical script on the warehouse's walls. But he put it away quickly because he knew that it was only draining the battery unnecessarily. He had already transcribed the script onto a notebook:

_ꝽÆænneæænnenigon_

_PÆnnænnefīf_

_ÐÆænnefēowe_

_ÆLloowænnesiextīne?_

_ꝽÆǷnneuuænneseofon_

He shook his head. It was pointless. He was not going to magically solve it by just staring at it. He needed whatever open-source information he could get his hands on to decipher the lines of script.

He thought about the girl with ashen hair again. The events of previous weekend came to his mind. He could not believe how many things have happened since he first arrived in Academy City three days ago.

Regardless, Jim knew that he needed to decipher the code. He couldn't waste too much time or the trail would go cold. He knew that the other operative he met at the warehouse also saw the script on the wall.

_If she solved the script and got to the girl first…_

While he could shell out some money to buy a laptop and set up an internet connection, he was reluctant to spend the money that his station had given him, which wasn't a lot to begin with.

Jim knew how these things worked.

They didn't pay mongrels like him 'a living wage'. Instead they gave him the bare minimum necessary for him to survive. This way Jim wouldn't have enough money to hop onto a one-way flight to Aruba and disappear. The worst part was how they never gave him money at regular intervals. So he always had to be prepared to make what little money he had last as long as possible.

So he didn't want to waste his money. He had already spent enough over the last weekend.

Jim shook head sadly.

It was Monday morning and he was already thinking about so much nonsense.

_Chill! Enjoy life! You start a new job today! _

_Okay, new rule! No thinking about work! Think happy thoughts! Happy thoughts only!_

He nibbled away the two slices of white bread that was his breakfast.

Today he would be reporting to his Anti-Skill station.

He suddenly realized that he could use the computers at the Anti-Skill station.

_No! Bad Jim! No! Don't think about work!_

_Just chill today! _

He wondered what he would be doing on his first day as a cadet. He had heard some business about a serial killer running around the city, but he sincerely doubted that he, a lowly cadet, would get involved in it.

In any case he wasn't interested in chasing some fucker through sewers, having to write after-action reports about it and then finally getting grilled about every single little action he took by a panel of fuckers who were in some office miles away, with their feet dry, when it all went down.

Those fuckers were always just trying to cover their own asses. Usually at the expense of poor sods like Jim.

He had done enough of that in Sofia.

Yomikawa would probably just show him around the station, slap him around a bit and then finally park him in a desk. Jim fantasied about how he would spend the rest of day in a chair. Jim hoped he got one of the office chairs that had padding and wheels. But he was not picky; a simple wooden chair was fine too. He thought about how he could spend the entire day just lazing around and doing nothing. Or at least, he would pretend to work while actually doing nothing.

And they'd feed him, right?!

For free, right?!

Jim closed his eyes and smiled dreamily. Finally, he had caught a break. He knew his luck would have to turn, eventually! Finally! For one day in his miserable life Jim could just sit peacefully at a desk and relax!

Finally, no fucking jackals sending him out to die!

He stood up again and readied everything. He placed the camera and the notebook into his backpack. There was no way on earth he would leave the camera at home. It was coming with him to the station.

Surely Yomikawa will not make a big deal about his lack of a uniform, surely not! She was probably just scaring him. And also, she'll probably just walk him over to supply immediately and get the supply sergeant to…

Jim stopped.

_Waaaaaait…._

* * *

"I said –"

"Yes ma'am, you did say –"

"Don't interrupt me!"

Yomikawa glared at the boy. Despite his best efforts to hide them she could see the multitude of bruises and wounds across his body. The Anti-Skill lieutenant could also see the dark, saggy bags underneath his eyes. But that's not what irked her the most.

It was his clothing.

Jim was decidedly _not _in an Anti-Skill uniform. Yomikawa stared contemptibly at the t-shirt, shorts, and _sandals_ the boy was wearing.

"I _explicitly _told you not to get into any more trouble. But most importantly, I told you to _get a uniform_! How is it you have the balls to show up here, having accomplished neither?!"

"Ma'am –" Jim began slowly.

"Cut your false manners! Call me Yomikawa."

"_Madam Yomikawa, _I am sorry for my wounds. Some thugs attacked me. But the uniform, it was impossible for me to get one. There was nothing I could do."

"I told you to go to Supply!"

Jim narrowed his eyes.

"Which supply, _Madam Yomikawa?_"

Yomikawa pointed at the Anti-Skill building behind her.

"And how exactly am I supposed to walk into an Anti-Skill station with no badge or ID, and ask the supply sergeant to give me a uniform? And how am I supposed to have a badge or ID, if I have yet to report to a certain Anti-Skill lieutenant for duty?"

Jim saw the wheels in Yomikawa's head slowly turning. Finally something clicked and her eyes shone like a triumphant child who had worked out a difficult math problem.

"All you needed to do is walk into the station and say 'Yomikawa sent me!'"

Jim made a long face.

"And they would have called me, or gotten me from my office. Hah! You little scoundrel! Trying to weasel your way out of this, are you? Try harder next time!"

With that, she grabbed him by the scruff his collar and led him out of the parking lot and into the building. When they entered the reception Jim felt a cool rush of air conditioning greeting him. _I could get used to this_. The duo walked over to the front desk and the Anti-Skill officer sitting there rose to her feet.

"Tessou! Is the morning briefing ready?"

"Yes, Yomikawa-san. Everyone is waiting in the ready room."

Yomikawa let go of Jim's collar and the trio walked into a large briefing room down the hall. In the room there were several rows of folding chairs placed around a projector. When Yomikawa entered the room the other Anti-Skill officers rose respectfully to their feet. The lieutenant took Jim and motioned vaguely at a seat before walking up the front.

Suddenly he felt a barrage of stares shooting towards him, and he realized why Yomikawa had instructed him to wear an Anti-Skill uniform. He stood out like a sore thumb amidst all the other officers.

But Jim didn't buckle under the pressure. He's been through much worse in his time with the jackals in the Sofia. He walked calmly to the back of the seats and stood in the corner. His eyes slowly wandered across the room of stares, not flinching or blinking, in a controlled gaze, meeting their eyes impassively, showing them – without being aggressive – that he was not afraid.

The days of Jim tucking his tail between his legs were behind him.

Yomikawa coughed loudly. The entire room turned to the front again.

"Alright, sit."

A chorus of seats being filled echoed across the room. Jim remained standing. He knew that he was the outsider who didn't deserve a seat. But Yomikawa pointed her finger accusingly at him, singling him out.

"Sit!"

Jim meekly sat down. There was laughter in the crowd.

"Alright folks, let's keep this short and simple. First things first! That dumb high school kid in the corner is Jim! He is our new cadet! He will be joining our station from now on. Show him the ropes and make sure he doesn't get into trouble! But be careful, little twat's got teeth and he bites!"

More laughter.

_Friendly laughter. _

Jim looked at the officers smiling warmly at him. He suddenly realized that they weren't as cold as he first thought.

"But that's unimportant – no offence, Jim – compared to the latest developments."

A heavy stress suddenly descended in the air. Jim glanced at the other officers and saw their faces forming into a monolith of grim determination and resolve.

"We've discovered a new victim on Saturday! This makes it the third victim from the serial killer, who has been provisionally named Suspect A. As you all know, last Sunday the HQ downtown has formed a special group, named Task Force A, to hunt this bastard down. You have all been briefed the details of the third murder on Sunday morning, so I won't go through it again. Our station will be sending half of our officers to help the task force."

Yomikawa read out a list of names. Jim noted that she herself was not included. He sighed quietly at how his name was also not included. He was already thinking about the fabled chair and lunchtime.

"However we cannot abandon our regular duties! The rest will be on the usual patrol routes. But everyone is to be on high alert! If you see anything suspicious, call it in immediately! If there are any new developments Tessou will update you with the details over the radio."

Yomikawa stopped for a moment and cast her determined gaze across the room.

"The school year is going to start soon. There will be new students entering the city to begin their studies. I will _not _allow this killer to be roaming around, threatening innocent children! Is that clear?"

A loud, fierce chorus of "YES!" answered her.

Jim smiled and shook his head. He recognized this spirit, this energy radiating from them. He was wrong; they weren't the cold, calculating jackals from Sofia. Instead it was as if he was back in the Krakozh mountains, huddling around a campfire the night before a big offensive, surrounded by the men with painted faces and readied rifles.

But there was an important difference; those men had a sinking pit in their stomachs. They all knew that there existed a bullet out there with their name written on it, and they knew that they could very well meet that bullet tomorrow.

And in the face of such a fact, everyone – even the bravest – was forced to reconsider just what exactly they were fighting for.

These officers did not have that sinking feeling.

Instead, they truly believed in what they were doing.

As the room broke into a commotion of shuffling and moving feet, Jim saw Yomikawa beckon him to her. He walked up to her and she waited until the room was empty and the others had left. Then she pointed him to the officer who had manned the front desk.

"Jim, this is Tessou Tsuzuri. She's the marvelous wonder who runs the front desk and takes care everything around here. This station would grind to a halt if not for her. Frankly I don't know what I'd do without this woman."

Jim looked at her.

_Green hair. Glasses. Medium stature_. His eyes noted her shoulders. _Drooping shoulders. Nervous smile. _He discreetly studied the marks on her face. Her skin was relatively smooth and quite young. _Age, mid-twenties, maybe even early-twenties_. He recalled the ages of the other officers.

_Likely most junior. _

Well, not anymore.

Jim realized why Yomikawa had waited for the room to be empty.

"Hello, Tessou-senpai. I'll be in your care," Jim said respectfully, bowing his head.

The woman blushed at his deference. Evidently she was not used to being shown so much respect. Yomikawa simply laughed and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Look at him, so polite and nice! Not bad for a foreigner, eh? But don't trust him, Tessou, he'll rob you blind if you ever turn your back to him. Anyways, Tessou, show him to the armory and get the poor slob a uniform. Give him his equipment as well. After you're done, call me. He's on patrol with me today."

* * *

"Woah!"

Jim whispered in awe as he put on the vest. Even though was thin and light, he could still feel its reassuring strength. It hugged his torso tightly without being cumbersome or suffocating. And the pouches! All of them were secured solidly to the vest. There was no annoying wobble or useless empty space between them and the vest.

This was worlds apart from the nasty – but admittedly quite indestructible – Russian chest rigs he was used to, or the old American webbings with their stupidly loose, swinging pouches.

He glanced at Tessou and gave her a bright thumbs-up.

Yomikawa looked on at his reaction from behind a shelf, hidden from view. His childish glee at seeing and handling his new equipment brought a smile to her face.

_He really is a high school boy after all._

"Is this –"

"No, it is not bullet proof. That's a stab vest, Jim. It stops knives. It won't stop a bullet, unless it's something small like a .22 LR round," Yomikawa said from behind.

She stepped out of the cover and walked over to him. She turned him around and made some adjustments to the straps on his back. Then she looked over him dotingly and made even more corrections, like a mother ruffling out the rough edges of her son's new school uniform.

"Can I take this home, ma'am?"

She gave him a nasty look.

"Why? What are you planning to with it?"

"Train!" Jim said quickly, "I want to run in the morning with it. Get used to it, you know."

"And go around on patrol with a smelly vest?"

"Eh…."

She smacked him lightly on the head.

"Yes, you can take it home. But don't damage it or spill coffee on it. And don't sweat like a pig in it. And you have to sign it out from Tessou first."

Jim's eyes sparkled with excitement. However Yomikawa's face quickly darkened into an ominous glare.

"And if I ever hear or see you doing something illegal while wearing it…"

Jim frantically shook his head, and smiled nervously.

"Of course not, lieutenant! Oh…what about my gun, ma'am?"

Tessou giggled and Yomikawa threw her head back in mocking laughter.

"Jim, you are _light years_ away from being issued a gun. There's no way on earth I'm giving a cadet a gun on his first day, certainly not some twat like you. And _even _if I did issue one to you, there's no way you will be taking it home!"

Jim pouted like a little boy but said nothing.

"Alright, that's it. You're good to go."

Lieutenant Yomikawa motioned at the door.

"Now follow me. You're with me today."

"Yes ma'am!"

* * *

Jim poked uncertainly at the vent. His eyes suspiciously examined the array of buttons and knobs. Then he slowly and carefully turned one of them and a rush of cool air greeted his face.

He opened his mouth in awe. It actually worked!

Yomikawa looked curiously at him.

"Stop messing with the passenger aircon, Jim. The main one is already on."

He quickly turned it off.

"Sorry."

Silence.

"So, how's Academy City been treating you so far?"

"Well, I got arrested."

She rolled her eyes.

"I meant, what are your thoughts about the city. Anything you like so far?"

Jim paused for a moment.

"It's really high tech! Did you know that there are vending machines that accept notes? Like bank notes?"

He suddenly turned to her.

"Yeah, how _does _that work? If I put in a note does it spit out coins?"

"Yes, Jim, that's how vending machines work."

"But what if I put like a ¥10,000 note? And buy like the cheapest thing possible? Does it really give me all the change? Wouldn't that be like, a lot?"

"Um…yeah."

"But doesn't the machine run out of coins or something? What if everyone did that with ¥10,000 notes? Won't it run out of coins at some point?"

Yomikawa slowed the car down and turned to look at him, to see if he was joking. But the boy was deadly serious. She giggled at his expression.

"Yes, Jim. The machine can run out coins. Then the machine won't let you buy anything from it until the change is replenished. And they'll give back your money if something went wrong."

She saw him swear silently under his breath.

"Why, what happened? Got your money gobbled up?"

"Something like that," he grumbled.

"Well, what about the station? It's your first day as an Anti-Skill cadet."

Suddenly, Jim's eyes shot up.

"Oh, right! I wanted to ask you. I get paid, right? As a cadet! I get paid, right? Right?! Like, I get a 'living wage', right?"

Yomikawa couldn't help but grimace internally. She knew that Anti-Skill cadetships were notorious for their terrible pay.

"Yes, Jim…you do get paid. By the hour."

"How much!?"

"Well…the going rate is ¥800."

The lieutenant knew that even convenience store workers were paid better. And they didn't have to risk their lives chasing serial killers. She glanced over him and saw that he was silent, trying to process the new information. A pang of guilt shot through her heart.

"But hey, it's not just the pay, you know? Jim, your dorm room is subsidized, right? Also your school tuition is free, right? It might not look like it, but the cadetship is actually a good deal. And you learn real life skills. You get to be a police officer! The girls in your school will be all over you. So, please, don't sulk, keep your head up!"

She saw that the wheels in his head were still turning and that he was trying to perform some sort of calculation with his fingers.

"Wait…¥100 is...ah…¥100 is about $1, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So ¥800/hr is about $8/hr, right?"

Yomikawa grimaced visibly.

"And I work 3 days a week, with 7 hours a day…so that makes…ah…"

"21 hours a week, Jim."

Jim furrowed his eyebrows and tried to make use what few brain cells he possessed to calculate the next herculean problem.

"And 21 times 800 is…"

"¥16,800 a week. Or $168," and to save him the trouble, she added, "which comes out to ¥67,200 a month, or $672."

She saw his eyes widening when she said the numbers.

"Woah…" he finally said, "that is…not bad! Jesus! Do I really get paid that much?"

Her mouth dropped open.

"Wait, wait, wait, lieutenant, how do you count the hours? Does this count? Me sitting the car, does it count? Does it count as working hours?"

"…yes, Jim, it does."

"What about me sitting in a chair? Does that count? Or me eating lunch? Do those count?"

"…yes, Jim."

She could see his tiny brain exploding right before her.

"Woah…this must be the Power of Science!"

Yomikawa's heart just melted.

She considered explaining to him the concept of overtime, or the fact that he worked every day during vacations, but she wasn't sure if her heart could handle any more of his reactions.

Yomikawa discreetly slowed down the car just so that she would have more time to talk with the adorable high school boy seated next to her.

"Hey Jim, guess what we're going to be doing today?"

"What, ma'am?"

A wide smile spread across her face.

"Oh Jim…you're gonna love it."

* * *

"Um…Lieutenant? Do we usually patrol these places?"

"Yes, of course. We serve and protect the people."

"I, eh…I don't see anybody around here we should be serving and protecting."

Yomikawa furrowed her eyebrows.

"Anti-Skill serves and protects everyone, Jim."

He made a strange face but chose to say nothing. While she was busy studying the dirty surface of the alleyway, he took another look around. Jim was new, yes, but even _he_ could tell that Yomikawa had driven them out to a _less-reputable_ part of the city. She had said that they were in sector PAN-N 5. He had seen scores of homeless people staring at them as the Anti-Skill patrol car drove past. Jim wondered if it was wise to leave the patrol car simply parked there, undefended.

Yomikawa paid no attention to him and continued walking further and further into the alleyway, her head downcast as if intently looking for something. Suddenly she gave out a cry of triumph and pointed at something.

Jim walked closer and examined what appeared to be a large blotch of dried blood next to a large manhole.

"We've got it, Jim!"

"Got what, lieutenant?"

Yomikawa knelt down beside the stain of blood and carefully scrapped up some of the red dirt and deposited it into a forensic vial. He saw her face furrowing in concentration as her mind processed the new information. Then, without turning to him, she began to explain:

"Jim, you've heard about the serial killer this morning, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you weren't there to hear the previous briefings so I'll fill you in. Suspect A is a serial killer who kills his victim by cutting their bodies into pieces and deposing of them in plastic bags. We found his second victim, a homeless man, last Thursday. The victim's body parts were found floating down a river. The entire task force is now scouring both banks of the river for the murder scene, or at least for the spot where he dumped the bags."

A look of bafflement spread across Jim's face.

"Well, my theory is that he didn't dump it from a river bank. Instead he could have thrown it into one of the of storm drainage passages connecting to the river. However there are only a few that can handle the size of a human's remains. And only one is connected to an area known for homeless people!"

She pointed proudly at the manhole.

"This one!"

Jim stared at her with unbelieving eyes.

"Oh come now, Doctor Jim, no need to be so flattering. That was but an elementary deduction."

But that was not what Jim had trouble believing.

"You…" he struggled to find the words, "you dragged me out here to investigate the serial killer?"

"Why, of course! An exciting first day for a cadet, right?"

Jim facepalmed. Yomikawa gave him a strange look, as if she had trouble understanding his reaction.

"What's the matter Jim? You don't like it?"

"Nothing, ma'am…nothing."

"Well, you should feel honored!"

"Yes, _madam Yomikawa, _I am truly honored."

She knelt down again and put on a pair of forensic gloves. Then she proceeded to investigate the scene some more, taking careful note of each detail and even taking pictures with a camera. Jim stood beside her and his hand slowly reached for the collapsible baton hanging on his vest.

Yomikawa put away the camera.

"Shall I quiz you, Jim?"

He said nothing.

"Come now, no need to play dumb. It's not a bad skill for an Anti-Skill officer to have."

Jim sighed quietly.

"Male, mid-fifites. Grey goatee. Poor. Dressed in rags. Cough in his chest. Been following us for the last…ten minutes. Getting closer ever since you found the scene."

Yomikawa shook her head when she saw his hand slowly unsheathing his baton.

"Fifteen minutes. And we drove past him. But yes, you're correct."

She stood up but did not turn to look behind them. Both of them were now facing the same direction, with their backs to him.

"Standard split-hook."

"Roger, ma'am."

"Yomikawa. Yomikawa_-san _in front of others, because you're the junior_."_

"Roger, _madam Yomikawa-san._"

* * *

The old man carefully peeked around the corner and saw the two Anti-Skill officers walking further down the alley. The younger officer took out a plastic water bottle and gave it quick swig before screwing the cap back and tossing it to the side. The older one smacked his head disapprovingly with her hand. Then they turned around a corner and disappeared from his sight. He slunk forwards as quietly as he could and once again peeked, this time around the corner that they had turned.

He saw no one.

He cursed his luck for losing sight of them. But it was alright, they were still close by. Nah, they probably left. Anti-Skill officers did not like to poke around these parts. After all, nobody cared about the homeless like him.

He turned around ruefully to look at the manhole and the stained ground. A deep sorrow gripped his heart as the memories came back to him. Still, he wiped away the tears and looked up. It was pointless to cry about –

He saw the older Anti-Skill officer standing in front of him.

He turned frantically to flee but saw the younger one standing behind him, with a fully extended baton in his hands.

* * *

"Jim, you're holding it wrong. And put it away. Sir, we would just like to talk to you."

Yomikawa saw fear creeping into the man's face. She reached her hands out to him. The man flinched, expecting her to hit him, but a stunned expression spread across his face when he realized she was holding his shoulders lightly.

Comfortingly.

Jim winced when he saw her hands – without the forensic gloves – touching the dirty, grimy, flea-ridden rags.

"I'm not here to arrest you sir. I'm here to find the killer. I can tell that this scene is very emotional to you. I need your help, sir, if you want justice for what happened here."

The old man's expressions softened.

Jim's jaws dropped open.

_What the –? That's it? That's all she needed to say?_

As a man of the black, Jim had been taught the importance of reading people and finding a way to build rapport with them. After all, a jackal's bread-and-butter in the field was finding ways to recruit people to spy for them. Such people were called _agents_. Another term was _asset_.

It was a jackal's job to persuade his agent to work for him, whether if it was with money, ideology, or blackmail. Or emotion.

Jim, a lowly mongrel, has of course never recruited an agent. In any case he probably didn't even have the skills to. But even _he _could tell that what Yomikawa did was…ridiculous. Or at least the fact that _all she needed to do was hold him _is ridiculous.

But it worked!

While he was lost in thought Yomikawa had already gotten past opening spadework and had the old man fully committed to her.

"He was not a bad man, officer, despite what others may say. Yes, he had a routine of…ah…_asking_ people for things, but you know how it is in the streets. It's tough out here. A man's got to _borrow _things from people. A couple times he got so good at it people started to resent us, thinking all of us homeless were like him. But he was a good man, you see, he meant no harm. He's the only one who's been bringing me medicine for me coughs. I'd be a dead man without him. You don't see that a lot in the streets, officer, a fellow man looking out for another. You just don't."

"Yes sir, I understand. Do you know…what happened to him?"

A pained expression spread across his face.

"Yes…I heard about him. I…"

He looked around fearfully before dropping to low, frightened whisper.

"_I saw what happened."_

Yomikawa's eyes burned with interest.

"What do you mean?"

"I _saw _it! The night he…that monster attacked him. He was doing his routine of _borrowing_ on the man, and the man was saying he'll help him if he follows him. So they walked into this alley and after an hour or so only the man walked out. I walked past this place later that night and there was blood everywhere and next morning it's all over the news, how they found him the river."

"Did you see the man? The man who…led your friend here?"

The old man shook his face sadly.

"Nah, I did not. It was a dark night and I was far away. And you don't do that you know, don't poke your nose into other's business, no sir! Not on the streets. So I kept my distance. The man had one of them large coats with those fancy collars, you know the ones that cover your face. Like those spy movies. So nah, didn't see nothing, I did not."

_How convenient, _Jim thought.

Then Jim stood by and watched in wonder as Yomikawa quickly and efficiently weaved in the angle of how the old man's life was in danger, how 'Killer' A would come for him next because he had seen them that night. And all that of course led to the logical conclusion that he needed to come with them to the station for protection; for his own safety.

Yomikawa even had the forethought to tell him that they'll arrest him, make a show of it, to show the other homeless that he wasn't snitching on anyone.

And that's the story of how they came to drive a handcuffed, homeless man back to the station.

* * *

"What do you think, Jim?"

They were in the station's parking lot again, with Yomikawa bent over a map spread open on the hood of the patrol car. Jim on the other hand was looking back at the station.

They had arrested the homeless man – or witness, as Yomikawa had explained to him – and booked him in for some minor charges. Tessou was quietly told to keep an eye on him and to hold him in a solitary cell. The man was also told to keep his mouth shut about what they had talked about. Strangely enough, she did not explain the man's connection to Suspect A to anyone else, not even Tessou.

Yomikawa was no slouch.

"Jim?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. You were saying?"

"What do you think? You think the man was lying?"

"The hobo seemed genuinely sad to me. Although I think he probably did see suspect A's face, but not very well."

"It's homeless, Jim. Or _internally-displaced _if you want."

"Well, I think the _homeless hobo_ is probably useful, but not a reliable witness."

Yomikawa glared at him. But she turned back to the map. Her hand moved to a mark that she made with a sharpie pen.

"Anyways, I've also investigated the first victim this weekend. His body was found in a trash heap, but I suspect he was murdered in sector GNA-N 9. Now we've found the second victim's scene of death to be in PAN-N 5. The third and most recent victim was also found in a dumpster. I suspect she was murdered somewhere else as well."

She wrote the grid designations on the map.

GNA-N 9.

PAN-N 5.

She turned to look at him.

"So? What do you think, Jim?"

Jim shrugged.

"Dude, why are you asking me? I'm just a dumb high school cadet."

"Yes, but you're _my _dumb high school cadet. So talk!"

He sighed. His incessant moaning was getting on her nerves.

"What was the first victim like? Who was he?"

"He was a broadcaster of a controversial news station. Well calling it news might be overselling it. Let's just say that a lot of the content is…_divisive. _Their specialty is to incite argument and anger between different groups of people. Why do you ask?"

"Well, maybe there could be connection between the victims."

"Hmm…a newscaster and a homeless man. Something about class maybe? Wealth? Let's see, the second victim was male, poor, middle-aged, homeless –"

"– and a scam artist. A liar. Like the newscaster."

Yomikawa nodded slowly, raking her mind.

"Well, the third one is a student, so…"

"Who knows? Maybe the student cheats on exams or something. Or sells drugs. Something like that."

Yomikawa smiled as pieces started to come together.

"Yes, yes…you're right. The motivation could be moral. Suspect A could be trying to punish the wicked for their sins."

She excitedly folded the map up and opened the car door. Then she turned to Jim and motioned for him to get in.

He just looked at her.

"Ma'am, can I go now?"

"Yes, yes! Let's go investigate the third victim!"

"No ma'am, I meant can I go back to the station?"

The lieutenant looked quizzically at the boy. She saw him staring at her with a forlorn expression.

"Why?"

"Because I am…you know, _just _a cadet?"

Yomikawa furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yes, a cadet who's investigating a serial killer case. So?"

Jim sighed again, loudly and dejectedly.

"What is it?" she suddenly snapped, an edge of anger seeping into her voice.

"I gave you an once-in-a-lifetime chance to personally investigate a serial killer and save innocent lives with your own hands, and all you've been doing is to mope around like some bratty shit. All morning! Is this not good enough for you? No interesting enough for you? If you have a problem, say it!"

Jim looked her in the eye.

Then he spoke to her in a voice she remembered from somewhere but didn't immediately recognize.

_Ah, the interrogation room_.

It was the voice with which he had whispered to her in the interrogation room, when her face was just inches away from his and his eyes were cold and lifeless.

"Why aren't we reporting the hobo –," her glare caused him to flinch, "I mean, _homeless person_, to the task force? This is not helping anyone."

Yomikawa flipped her hair dismissively.

"I didn't take you for one so _respectful _about protocols. But don't worry, we will, just not right now. The task force is too big and unwieldy, and it has too much red tape and office politics to get anything done efficiently. They always are. When the time comes I have ways to telling them and cutting through all the bullshit."

"Why weren't you in the list of officers supporting the task force? Why are we moonlighting this?"

"Because, _like I said, _the task force is too unwieldy. I know everyone worth knowing in the task force. I am well aware of what leads they will be investigating. If they are right we won't be needed. If they're _not…_then we need to explore alternative options, right?"

She looked exasperatedly at him.

"So? Anything else?"

She saw the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Yes. Yomikawa…why am _I_ investigating this with you?"

"Because it's a good experience for a cadet."

"No, it is not. It is too dangerous for a cadet. And if you did want to investigate it unofficially, you could have brought someone more experienced with you. One of the older officers."

"I think you're _plenty_ experienced enough. And the best way to learn is to emulate the best!"

"That's bullshit and you know it."

His quiet voice suddenly made her realize how seriously the boy was taking the situation. Yomikawa stopped smiling.

"Say it, Yomikawa, say it. The only reason why you brought me along. The same reason you 'quizzed' me about being followed."

It dawned on her what he was talking about. But she did not understand why he was so worked up about it. Still, Yomikawa noticed the glint in his eye.

"Yes, Jim…you're right. It's because you're a…well…a _hobo canine._"

Yomikawa couldn't help but snicker at the irony of her phrasing. Give him a taste of his own medicine! Jim rolled his eyes so far back into his head that she thought he had a seizure.

Then – to her great surprise – Jim crouched down and placed his head in his hands.

He was in despair.

"Why, oh gods, why? Why couldn't I have gotten a normal cover? Or at least someone normal? And why you? Why you, of all people? For once in my miserable life couldn't I just stand in the corner and do nothing? Or at least do something simple? Clean the toilet? Anything! Why do I always have to get dragged into dangerous shit?"

Yomikawa threw her head back and laughed heartily at his misfortune. Then she pulled him to his feet and raised her hand to give him a good smack on the head, to remind him of how Anti-Skill officers should never flinch in the face of danger, of how they should tackle every criminal with unrelenting vigor but also boundless compassion, because all sinners have a future and all saints a past, etc etc.

She was going to tell him all that drivel a cadet would recite mindlessly in a classroom and then promptly forget all about the next hour.

Until she saw his face.

That's when Yomikawa realized that she was no longer looking at the happy boy twirling around in his new vest, his eyes bright with excitement and glee.

She was no longer looking at the awe-stricken boy in the car, who kept asking her if he was really getting paid for just _existing _in uniform; clearly someone who has never been properly paid for any of the dangerous, thankless work that he did on a daily basis.

She was no longer looking at the boy who – after hearing her mention it – joked slyly about how he should flash his new Anti-Skill uniform in front of the girls in his class.

Instead she found herself looking at a haggard mongrel.

He was a nothing but a shell of a man. She saw in his eyes only impassive resignation.

She suddenly realized – _actually realized _– just how many new wounds and bruises he had gained since she first met him two short days ago.

She suddenly remembered noticing how his left arm kept twitching erratically, how he thought she didn't see him massaging it whenever she turned around, and how he always hid his left hand in a pocket to hide the fact that he was clenching and unclenching his palm repeatedly.

Most of all, she remembered how when she asked him if he was okay, he had simply smiled.

_'I'm fine, ma'am, thank you for asking.'_

It took everything she had in her just to keep her mouth shut as he rose to his feet. Then he stretched his neck, cracked his knuckles and, like old solider preparing to go over the trenches, walked past her without so much as a glance.

He stepped quietly into the car.

Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho just stood there for a long, long time.

* * *

"You're right," she said slowly, "it's stupid to bring a cadet with me."

Jim raised his eyebrows.

"You're useless and all you do is complain and whine like a little bitch."

Yomikawa had her back turned to him but Jim saw her torso shaking slightly with emotion.

_Oh boy, she's piiiiissed. _

Jim adjusted the collar of his uniform uneasily. Now he's done it! He _definitely _should have kept his mouth shut. He braced himself for the inevitable nasty smack on his head.

She finally turned and he saw that her face was blank with emotion. Too blank. She walked to the car in a subdued but strange gait. He could tell she was working very hard to keep her anger in check. As she got into the car he could do nothing but look down nervously at his boots.

He felt her arm reaching over from the driver's seat and he tensed his body for the blow.

Yomikawa reached over…

_Here we go._

…and lightly flicked her middle finger against his temple.

"So, Mr. I-am-just-an-cadet, there's a very important task that needs to be done! The bathroom at our glorious Anti-Skill station is in dire need of maintenance. We need a brave officer to step up to the task. Could _you_ be our hero? Could _you_ be the hero to save us from bacteria, germs and certain death? In addition to, of course, helping Tessou around the station?"

Yomikawa solemnly placed her hand over her heart.

"Could _you_ be the hero we need to defend and protect our _beloved _station?"

Jim looked up quickly at her.

There was a sarcastic smile on her lips.

"…do I get paid? Is this part of the…ah…my hours? Is it billed?"

"Yes, of course it is, stupid. Every minute you spent in uniform is billed."

He turned his head side-ways and looked at her suspiciously.

"Annnnnnd you want me to interrogate the old man, right? Is that it? Or is a team going to hit the station? Break him out? Do I have to defend the station with Tessou-senpai? With no gun?"

He held out his collapsible baton resentfully.

"With this stupid stick?!"

Yomikawa rolled her eyes.

"No, you dummy. What, you think Suspect A is a super spy or something? You think he's the Pope with his Vatican magicians? No, Tessou needs to show you around the station. And sure, while you're cleaning the toilet, tell the old man to not piss in the cell."

She pointed her finger at him.

"But _most importantly_, you're on night watch with me and Tessou tonight! We lost everyone else to the task force, leaving just the three of us. So I can't have you running around this afternoon and then falling asleep tonight!"

Jim narrowed his eyes some more.

Yomikawa threw her hands up in exasperation.

"Oh, maybe you don't like that? Perhaps you'd like to, _oh I don't know_, investigate Suspect A with me? Perhaps you would like do some shady, questionable shit in order to get a lead? Break into an official building and steal –"

Jim immediately put his hands over his ears and started making loud incoherent noises.

"I didn't hear that! I didn't know any of that! If you get caught I know nothing! I am not part of whatever thing you plan to do! I am just a stupid cadet lalalalalaaa! I just got my orders _to clean the toilet_, that's all I know lalalalala!"

Yomikawa smiled and started up the car.

"Now get out! You can't clean the toilet from the patrol car."

* * *

The girl silent walked past the rows of homeless people huddled along the side walk. The quiet incantation she continuously murmured prevented them from seeing or sensing her presence. She knew, of course, that such an elementary spell would only work when people weren't really paying attention in the first place. Even a normal Anti-Skill officer would see through it if they were actually looking for her.

She felt her parched throat getting dryer and dryer. She knew that she would need to find some water soon or eventually the words start slurring together and the spell would stop working. But it didn't bother her; she could always switch to mentally chanting the incantation, even if it took more effort and mana from her.

She checked at the transparent compass floating in her hand and eventually, she too, came upon the same alleyway. Her experienced eyes looked over the blood stain and ground, immediately recognizing everything.

She stopped the spell and her cloak vanished from her shoulders. She knelt down and placed her hands on the stain. She whispered a different spell through her dry, cracked lips.

The entire alleyway was suddenly aglow with a faint magical aura. She stood up again and this time, she was looking over a magic circle that had materialized over the blood stain. She noted the lines, the strokes, the script, and the way it was arranged.

Nothing escaped her wise, ancient eyes.

_An amateur. _

She stopped counting all the sloppy mistakes after a brief, cursory glance at the sigil. There were simply too many to list. Luckily for the summoner, the shape of the sigil itself was passable, if only barely, and that was the most important part. The sigilwork alone was what usually made or broke a summoning. Well, for amateurs, at least. That, however, was no excuse for all of the other terrible details.

But the most grievous mistake was _his name! _

_His actual name!_

The letters were_ wrong_. Instead of the plain, simple and _appropriate _Latin letters, the summoner had written some gibberish of Æ-Ɯ-Ḏ-Ԗ-Ã-Ṡ. She shook her head in despair and her ashen hair fluttered quietly against her bare shoulders.

It was a nonsensical combination of letters from different languages that had absolutely no business being in a single word, let alone a summoning sigil for _him._ The summoner was no doubt using reference books written by imbeciles, charlatans who were more concerned with making such matters appear esoteric rather than accurate.

Well, she supposed that she should be grateful for her opponent's general incompetence.

Then her eyes caught something in the trash. Her pupils suddenly glowed with animal interest. She crept forwards stealthily and proceeded to dive head-first into the pile of trash. The little girl emerged triumphantly with a half-empty water bottle. She frantically opened it and greedily devoured its contents, savoring the warm, disgusting plastic taste of the water streaming down her throat.

In fact, she drank so quickly, so hurriedly that she ended up choking and spewing a good portion of it out of her mouth. The little girl gave out a cry of despair and frantically clawed at the ground, as if trying to catch whatever droplets of water she could with her hands.

But it was futile.

So she simply clutched the crumbled plastic water bottle to her chest and salvaged the small victory. She could at least refill it later. Finally she stood up again proudly and gave the sigil on the ground one last disdainful look.

_And why, in whatever gods' names one pleases, did he choose to draw the sigil over a manhole cover?_

But she sighed silently.

Yes, it was amusing to mock the summoner, but she also knew that the more incompetent he was, the harder life would be for her.

If possible, she needed him to be incompetent…but also not _too _incompetent!

* * *

Jim scratched his head and sighed again.

Out of habit, he looked around the empty station again. For some reason he couldn't shake the guilty feeling that he was doing something wrong, something terrible, with the Anti-Skill computer in front of him.

_It's fine!_

He was on the night watch. The only three people awake in the station were him, Tessou and Yomikawa.

He had already told Yomikawa some nonsensical excuse about how he was researching something for a history project, even though they both knew that the school year hadn't even started yet. Luckily for him Yomikawa was not in a mood to bully him and simply told him not to do anything stupid, like watch porn or download a virus.

The lieutenant disappeared inside her office after that.

Right now Jim could see, through her half-open office door, Yomikawa's boots propped on her desk.

She was probably sleeping.

So Jim turned around and looked over his most recent search history.

* * *

ENGLISH ALPHABET

SECRET ENGLISH ALPHABET

MAGIC ENGLISH ALPHABET

ENGLISH ALPHABET

ENGLISH MAGIC ALPHABET

OLD ENGLISH MAGIC ALPHABET

OLD ENGLISH ALPHABET

* * *

Yes, it's fine! It's not like Jim was searching for the nuclear launch codes or anything. It was all free, open-source information after all. If anyone asked he could just say it's his historical interest or something.

Jim opened his notebook and looked over the script from the warehouse again. He had managed to find out that they were written in the Old English alphabet. He turned the original script from…

_ꝽÆænneæænnenigon_

_PÆnnænnefīf_

_ÐÆænnefēowe_

_ÆLloowænnesiextīne?_

_ꝽÆǷnneuuænneseofon_

…into this.

GAanneaannenigon

PAnnannefif

DAannefeowe

ALloowannesiextine?

GAwnneuuanneseofon

But what on earth did they mean?

_Well, the first three lines were crossed out, and there's a question mark in the fourth. So I guess I'll focus on that one. So…_

ALloowannesiextine?

Jim turned back to the computer screen and typed in:

* * *

ALLOWANNESIEXTINE?

* * *

No results, of course not. He stared at the long word flashing in the bright light of monitor. He slowly went through all the possible ways that word could be pronounced.

"Alo-wan-ne-siex-tine?"

"A-llo-wa-nne-sie-xtine?"

"Allo-wanne-seixtine?"

_Hey! That last part sounds like…sixteen! _So Jim typed that in.

* * *

SIEXTINE

Did you mean sixtine?

* * *

Jim clicked on it.

* * *

Sistine

/ˈsɪstiːn,ˈsɪstʌɪn/

adjective: Sixtine

relating to any of the popes called Sixtus, especially Sixtus IV.

* * *

He clutched his head in despair.

But wait! He looked back. Maybe that was the lead? Could it be? After all, the Pope was magical, right? Maybe it was related to the Pope? He scribbled that possibility into his notebook.

Maybe the girl with ashen hair was the Pope's daughter! Or maybe _she_ was the Pope!

Then a thought occurred to him.

He had used the Old English alphabet to transcribe the script into modern English. So what if it was an Old English word? That would make sense, right? If whoever wrote that was writing in Old English script, it would make sense for them to writing an Old English word.

Jim typed:

* * *

OLD ENGLISH WORD SIEXTINE

* * *

Once again most of the links kept pointing him that Pope. He tried again:

* * *

OLD ENGLISH NUMBER SIEXTINE

* * *

Nothing. Jim stretched his neck and looked at the clock. It was 11:00 PM. He looked around the station again. There were only a few lights shinning. He knew that Tessou was manning the front desk and she would call them if there was anything happening.

Jim yawned.

Wait. If it's an Old English word…then it would be written with Old English alphabet, right? Why was Jim searching the internet with the modern transliteration?

He looked up the table of Old English alphabet again to painstakingly reconstruct the original 'siextīne' that he had photographed in the warehouse. Luckily the only unique letter he needed was the i, or to be exact the ī. He typed that in the search bar and pressed enter:

* * *

OLD ENGLISH NUMBER "SIEXTĪNE"

It looks like there aren't many great matches for your search

* * *

Jim saw that there was only one result.

* * *

en wikabooks org › wika › Old_English › Numbers

Old English/Numbers - Wikabooks, open books for an open world

* * *

Jim clicked on it. He scrolled down the page until he found the section was he was looking for. There was some long paragraph explaining the history of the words but Jim didn't really care about any of that. He was only interested in the list below it.

* * *

fēoƿer - four

fīf - five

siex - six

seofon - seven

eahta - eight

nigon - nine

tīen - ten

endleofan - eleven

tƿelf - twelve

þrēotīne - thirteen

fēoƿertīne - fourteen

fīftīne – fifteen

* * *

Jim squinted his eyes and stared the simple line of text on his screen. He had trouble believing his eyes. Were the pixels lying to him?

* * *

siextīne – sixteen

* * *

Jim leaned back in his chair and long, deep sigh of relief came flowing out him. He ran his fingers through his hair.

He had hit the jackpot.

He looked back at original script again. Now he could tell that ending of each of them was actually a number. They were words that ended with a number. He updated the list with this new information.

GAanneaannenigon

GAanneaan-9

PAnnannefif

PAnnanne-5

DAannefeowe

DAanne-4

ALloowannesiextine?

ALloowanne-16?

GAwnneuuanneseofon

GAwnneuuanne-7

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He was finally making some headway. It seems like the script on the wall of the warehouse weren't single words. Instead they seemed to be a compound of several words. Maybe it's like one of those German words or something, where you add two words together and make a new word with the two meanings combined.

He went back to the fourth line.

ALloowanne-16?

Maybe he could divide the 'ALloowanne' into smaller parts?

AL – loo – wanne – 16?

ALlo – ow – anne – 16?

AL – loow – anne – 16?

He tried to divide them into the smallest possible segments that were still pronounceable.

A – Ll – oow – anne – 16?

His mouth slowly whispered the pseudo-syllables.

"A – LL – OOW – ANNE – 16."

Jim tilted his head and giggled. He had no idea why he found it so funny; perhaps it was the exhaustion from the afternoon he spend cleaning the toilet.

"Sounds like someone saying 'hello, anne, 16!' or something."

While Jim was giggling like an idiot in his chair, with his head rolling about the desk, a shout came echoing from across the station. It was Tessou, from the front desk.

"Yomikawa-san!"

However the front desk was located too far away from Yomikawa's office. It was also located on the first floor, while Yomikawa and Jim were sitting on the second. Jim could hear Tessou's voice clearly but by the time it reached Yomikawa's office it was nothing but a faint whisper.

Tessou called out again.

"Yomikawa-san! Are you there?"

Jim wondered if Yomikawa had a phone in her office. But then again, since she was sleeping she probably turned it off or something. He smirked at what she had told him earlier in the car. Well, it seemed like she was the one running around and falling asleep, not Jim.

Jim looked at the pair of boots propped on the desk. There was no movement.

He turned to the direction of the front desk.

"Tessou-senpai! The Lieutenant can't hear you! She's sleeping!"

"Oh, Jim-san? Can you hear me?"

"Yes, I can, Tessou-senpai!"

"Tell Yomikawa-san her office phone is turned off!"

Suddenly Yomikawa's booming voice came ringing out of her office.

"Jim! Did someone call me?"

"Yes, ma'am! Tessou-senpai was calling for you! She said your office phone was turned off!"

"What does she want?"

Jim turned around and looked at the stairs. Then he looked back at the office. He realized that he was right smack between them. Jim was located between Tessou at the front desk and Yomikawa in her office.

He sighed and rolled his eyes.

Jim was the relay station.

"Tessou-senpai! The lieutenant said what do you want?"

"Oh, Jim-san! Tell Yomikawa-san that we have a call! HQ is asking us to respond!"

"Ma'am! We have a call! HQ wants to send us out to die!"

"Ask Tessou if it's related to Suspect A!"

"Tessou-senpai! The lieutenant asked if it is the serial killer!"

"No, Jim-san! It's just an anonymous call! Some sort of domestic violence!"

"Lieutenant! It's not the serial killer! It's just some wife beater!"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Yomikawa swore loudly.

"Tessou-senpai! The lieutenant said fuck you!"

"Jim! I did not say that! What the fuck?"

"Tessou-senpai! Now the lieutenant wants to fuck me! Help! Please save me!"

"JIM!"

"…Jim-san? What?! I d-don't understand! What did Yomikawa-san say?"

"Ma'am! Tessou-senpai is asking what you said! And also why are you so mean!"

"I didn't say anything! But ask her the coordinates! Where are we responding to?!"

"Tessou-senpai! The lieutenant was just cursing at me, not you! She loves you! Also she asked what are the coordinates! What sector!"

Jim could swear that he heard a loud sigh of relief from the front desk downstairs. He heard Tessou shout the coordinates to him and, lest he forget them, Jim hurriedly scribbled them down in his notebook, right next to the lines of script he had been working on.

He stopped.

"Tessou-senpai! Can you repeat that?"

She yelled the coordinates again.

Jim stared at the lines of script in his notebook. He focused on the fourth line that he had recently been working on:

A – Ll – oow – anne – 16?

He whispered the phrase to himself, slowly and carefully pronouncing each of the syllables.

"A – LL – OOW – ANNE – SIXTEEN."

Then he simplified it.

"A – L – O – N – SIXTEEN."

Jackpot.

* * *

Yomikawa groaned and slowly picked herself up from her chair. She did not expect the afternoon she spend talking to Kuroko to be so tiring. But she was no stranger to long nightshifts with the Anti-Skill either. So the Anti-Skill lieutenant just chugged an entire cup of stale coffee and splashed some water on her face. Then she grabbed her equipment.

She wondered why Jim had been silent for the last couple minutes. She never did hear the coordinates from him. Yomikawa also realized that the responding team will probably have to be Jim and herself. Tessou needed to stay at the station.

Alone.

Luckily, there were a couple of other officers who were sleeping over at the station. They weren't supposed to be on shift but Yomikawa would have to wake them. She did not want Tessou to be the only one awake in the entire building.

She quickly reconnected her office phone – cursing her own laziness for relying on Jim – and made some quick calls. With the arrangements complete, Yomikawa finally walked out of her office.

And saw Jim gearing up.

He was putting on his stab vest and methodically going through the rest of his equipment. He carefully checked the contents of every pouch, making sure that they were holding what he intended. Then he gave his collapsible baton a couple swings to make sure it was working properly.

She realized that he was very familiar with the act of checking his equipment before a mission. In fact it all seemed to be purely muscle memory for him; it was an innate instinct he acquired from having done so hundreds and hundreds of times before.

That's why his hand reached down to check the pistol in his thigh holster.

He had none, of course.

Jim cursed silently.

"You ready, Jim?"

He turned to face her and she suddenly realized that she was not talking to an Anti-Skill cadet.

Yomikawa recognized those eyes.

Yomikawa herself once had those eyes as well, back when she went to sleep every night with only the sounds of ringing flashbangs and hissing submachineguns echoing in her ears.

She was looking at a mongrel.

"Jim…" she said quietly, though she did not know why.

"Tessou-senpai sent me the coordinates, ma'am."

"Where?"

"ALO-N 16."

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 2/12/2020

Last modified: 7/12/2020

Word count: 9591


	7. Sigils II

_Author's Notes:_

_This chapter is 12,000 words long! _

_1\. Why?_

_2\. What on earth am I doing with my life? _

_3\. Is this stuff even coherent?_

_Top three questions that science cannot answer. _

_Also I guess if you like Sherlock Holmes you might like this chapter._

_Well...if you squint your eyes and smear them with a thick coat of vaseline, that is..._

* * *

This story is a derivative fanwork written by GodandMen for the Toaru Majutsu no Index/とある魔術の禁書目録 franchise.

* * *

**SIGILS**

**II**

* * *

"Jim, do you know what domestic violence means?"

"Yes ma'am. It's when the husband drinks too much vodka and smacks his wife."

"Well…yes, I suppose that counts. But women can be abusers too, you know."

"Japanese women drink vodka?"

Yomikawa shook her head. He was hopeless.

"That's not my point, Jim. My point is that we're walking into a _potentially_ _delicate_ family situation."

Yomikawa closed the car door and locked it. Jim got out as well.

"Of course, ma'am."

"So how exactly do you think a _fully-extended baton _will help with that?"

Jim shrugged.

"I mean, we can't just shoot the man. Wait…can we? You have a gun, right?"

"No! We can't just shoot people! Yes, I have a gun! And no! We won't be beating or shooting anyone! We're here to _talk_ and _assess_ the situation. Our priority is to _protect the victim_, if there is one. And yes, _if _there is a violent altercation, then we _might _beat someone. But that's so that we can arrest them, not just to hurt them for the sake of it! So put the damn thing away!"

Jim made a nasty scowl but obediently put it away.

Lieutenant Yomikawa looked around the neighborhood, assessing the surroundings. They had driven into sector ALO-N 16. It was a typical Japanese suburb within Academy City that was filled with separate, individual houses designed for small families. Since Tessou had told them that it was an anonymous call, Yomikawa deduced that it most likely came from one of the neighbors.

She tapped her fingers steadily on her stab vest.

The neighborhood seemed unusually quiet. There were only a few lights turned on. Furthermore, Jim's demeanor seemed very strange. He made no complaints when she had told him about responding to the call. In fact he was usually quiet, eager almost, about coming with her. Her eyes wandered across the pavement.

There was a small puddle of oil.

_And these tire marks…_

"Alright Jim, follow me. Let's go to the house the caller mentioned."

* * *

The door was open.

Yomikawa slowly slid through the small wooden gate that was left ajar and peeked inside the open doorway. She spied pieces of a broken vase littering the dark entrance. There were no lights turned on in the entire house. She heard Jim slowly unsheathing the baton from his vest and quietly extending it.

"Ma'am?"

"Go around and watch the back. In one minute's time I'll start knocking. If anyone comes out, try and stop them. But don't go overboard and get yourself hurt."

"Are you going in alone? I don't think – "

"I'll be fine, Jim. Just make sure your earpiece and radio is on."

Jim slithered away into the shadows.

* * *

"Hello! Is anyone home! I'm from Anti-Skill! Someone reported a disturbance! Is everything alright?"

Jim heard Yomikawa's loud voice echoing from the front…then the distinct sound of her hands knocking on the door. He steadied his breathing and adjusted his grip on the baton. Jim badly wished that he had a gun with him, or at least a knife; anything was better than this flimsy stick.

"I'm coming inside! Sorry for disturbing!"

He thought he heard the faint sound the door creaking open, but he wasn't sure. What followed was an agonizing wait as Jim simply sat there, crouching behind a trash can, his eyes intendedly watching the back door of the house. He waited and waited…

His earpiece crackled to life.

"Jim, it's all clear. Come in from the back and check the kitchen, then upstairs. Then meet me in the living room."

He rose up in a flash and shot past the backdoor, which he realized was also open. He could see a stray beam of light in the hallway; Yomikawa's flashlight. He snapped his own on and scanned the kitchen.

Jim noticed an acidic smell in the air.

But he did not have the time to investigate further. Once he made sure the kitchen was clear, he went up the stairs to the second floor. The second story of the house had only two rooms; a study and a small bed room. Jim resisted the urge to kick in doors. Instead he simply opened them with his hands. He found them to be deserted as well.

"Kitchen and upstairs all clear, ma'am."

"Come down, you'll want to see this."

As Jim descended down the stairs his nose picked up the faint acidic smell again. He found Yomikawa in the living room, kneeling over something. The bright beam of her flash light illuminated her face; it was an expression of concentration and focus. Jim looked at what Yomikawa was so intensely studying:

A dead body.

_Woman. Mid-thirties_. His eyes looked over her bloodied clothing. They were very mature and sexy. _Expensive clothes, high class._ There were a lot of pink cards scattered around. Pink business cards_. Prostitute. Sex worker. _Yomikawa's flash light shone across the body's neck, revealing a line of red bruises. _Choked. Strangled. _The body was sprawled across the center of the living room. Jim remembered the anonymous call.

_The husband. _

"It's always the damn vodka."

Yomikawa shook her head slowly and pointed to a mass of object to her right. Jim shifted his flash light and saw that it was large duffle bag. Beside it were several large plastic bags – some were already open – commonly used for the large 120 litre bins. But what surprised him was the sudden light of his flashlight reflecting off the saw blades.

He saw a wide array of saw blades on the floor, all neatly arranged from smallest to largest.

Jim slowly turned to her.

"Yep…first he kills the victim, and then he cuts them into smaller pieces. After that he puts the pieces into plastic bags and dispose of them somewhere far away from the crime scene."

The lieutenant stood up with a grim expression.

"She is Suspect A's fourth victim."

It was the serial killer.

"Did you call it in, ma'am?"

"Yes. The task force will be here soon."

There was a short, heavy pause.

"Well, if that's the case," Jim said slowly, "then we should see what we can find before they trample all over the scene, right?"

Yomikawa stared at him for a moment before a shadowy smile spread across her face.

"Yes…you're right. Jim, go and check the yard outside and the backdoor. I'll see what I can find here."

She handed him a pair of forensic gloves before slapping one on her own hands. Jim couldn't help but wonder just how many pairs she carried on her at any given moment. He snapped the gloves on his hands and stepped out in the cool spring night.

The first thing he took was a deep breath.

He looked around the yard with experienced eyes. It was a small courtyard covered in grass and some bushes. He smiled at his luck. He wondered what exactly Yomikawa had in mind when she ordered him to check the courtyard.

Did she know? No, it was unlikely. Very people knew about his past, not even a lot of the jackals he met in Sofia. At least not this part of his past. Only a few of those who had fought with him Krakozhia knew. And most of them were long dead.

Jim closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. Robbed of his vision, all of his other senses came to life, stronger than ever. Jim savored the sensation of the cool night air, the vest on his body, the soft earth beneath his fingers, and his steady heartbeat. He mustered all of his will and beckoned the darkness to him. Everything faded away as a terrible, suffocating silence descended upon him.

He recited the words once whispered to him:

_Forget. You must forget, here in the Woods you must forget. If you seek to leave this place, you must learn to forget everything. Your past, your life, your humanity…_

The darkness swirled around him. He recited the oath, the whisper he once spoke with trembling lips, many years ago in the deep, dark Woods. He knelt there for a moment and allowed the Night to sweep over his body.

He stood up and, with his eyelids securely shut, _opened his eyes_.

He _saw_, in a blueish glow he could not describe properly, the small footprints leading across the grassy courtyard. His fingers brushed over the flattened grass but he felt no heat, only a light coldness. He made sure to use his right hand but a phantom pain still ached in his left. Clearly it was some form of magic.

The footprints were light and shallow. He measured the strides with his palm. They were rather short.

_Someone small, someone light. _

He followed the footprints to a large window looking out from the living room. There was a small, low ledge protruding from the window. He saw a pair of slippers on the ledge.

Jim saw the footprints leading onto the ledge. There was a pair of footprints – barefoot prints, with no shoes – beside the window, but to the side, just barely hidden from the view of someone within the living room.

Jim looked inside and saw a tall figure within the living room. He saw the bright colors swirling and radiating from her body. It was a scene of her anger and frustration being suppressed by a harsh, icy calmness. He saw her pacing around the lifeless body methodically and examining every detail, and with each movement her feelings bled more and more into the air.

What really stood out to him was the stain around the body.

Jim saw that there was a glowing green stain around the body. It glowed with a mistakable magical aura. He could see that there seemed to be some shape positioned around the victim, but it was blotched and smeared by the great stain.

_A magic circle? _

The cold footprints led inside the living room.

He saw that there were several other pairs of footprints in the living room, excluding his own and that of Yomikawa's. He walked back to the entrance and saw that, in addition to the cold one, there were _two_ other pairs of footprints.

One was red hot with heat. It was all too familiar. He had seen in the warehouse. In fact it was what he had directed his flying knives towards. He swore he could even smell the flour dust.

_Fuck, it's her._

The other, however, had a faint, familiar green glow to it. Jim tightened his jaws when he recognized it to be same aura as the stain around the victim.

_Serial killer's a magician. _

A painful ache slowly crept its way up Jim's left arm. He could feel it hungering for the taste of magic. He gripped it roughly and dug his finger nails into his muscles.

He raised his boots to simply step _through_ the pieces of the broken vase, but he remembered that he was in a crime scene. So he carefully stepped _over it_. That way, he wouldn't shift the pieces around and make life difficult for the task force.

However as he was doing so his eyes suddenly spotted something. He saw that there was a small symbol glowing on the wall, beside a small table, in the spot right where the vase would have before it fell.

The aura of the glow was blue and cold, just like the small footprints. He reached his left arm out and touched it.

He felt the fingers on his left hand burning as the symbol disappeared.

_A magic spell. _

He sighed at this new revelation.

_Two magicians. _

Jim decided to look over the entrance. He saw that there was a spot that glowed brightly with heat. It was as if the red footprints walked inside the doorway and proceeded to stop in one spot for a long time. Then the red footprints started moving again. It looked as if the red footprint was chasing the green magical one.

He followed the footprints down the hallway. He saw that while there was some messy overlap, the three unknown footprints all eventually led to the kitchen and towards the direction of the back door.

There was, however, a divergence at the kitchen.

Jim saw another magical symbol on the backdoor. It was blue and cold as well. It was the same magical aura as the symbol by the door. It was cast by the same person who made the cold footprints.

The small cold footprints circled around the kitchen several times before leading out a small window high up on the kitchen wall. The red and green magical footprints led out the backdoor. Jim decided to check the cold footprints first.

He circled around outside to the small window. There was a small area of flattened grass just below it, and he could see that it was tainted with the distinctive coldness. Jim followed the cold footprints until they disappeared over the low wall and onto the pavement. He knew that he could not track it on the concrete. He studied the path taken by the cold footprints. He could tell that the person was running and that the person ran past several tall bushes before reaching the wall.

Jim observed that there were several broken branches on the ground. He turned around and extended his arms inside the bush. His fingers reached inside and parted some of the bush's leaves and branches…

That's when he saw it.

If he had been using his normal eyes there was no way he would have noticed it. He certainly not have noticed it in the dark. But Jim was not using his normal eyes. He did not miss it. He could not. Not when he was using these eyes_._

It was hidden, nestled within the branches, below the outer layer of the bush. His shaking hand reached inside and gently parted it from the branches. Then he pulled it out and cradled it in his hands. Its silvery light shone brightly in the darkness, piercing even these eyes.

It was a single strand of ashen hair.

_The girl with ashen hair. _

Jim quickly turned around and followed the magical and red hot footprints out the backdoor. They all ended at the concrete. Jim slowly closed those eyes and opened his normal ones, looking around the dark street. He already knew what he was searching for. He quickly found it in a dark corner of the street.

It was a small brass casing that still had the faint smell of gunpowder residue. He turned it over in his palm. Jim recognized the cartridge.

It was an expended casing of a 9x19 Parabellum round.

Now, to be fair, the 9x19 Parabellum is a very common cartridge. It was used by a variety of firearms. In fact one could argue it was _the_ most popular cartridge in the world for pistols and submachine guns. Of the top of his head Jim could list several pistols, some he'd personally handled, others taught to him by the jackals;

_Browning Hi-Power, Luger, CZ 75, some variants of Glocks, some TT models like the Zavasta M88, and of course the most obvious one…_

The memory of the woman, with the magnificent flames swirling around her face, raising her pistol and aiming for his head through the dusty haze, came to Jim's mind.

_…the entire Beretta 92 series. _

Jim stood there for a long time and tried to understand what happened. He slowly formulated the series of events that must have occurred.

_Woman comes home with killer. Killer kills woman. He does some magic stuff? Operative sneaks in and wait at the doorway while this happens. The girl with ashen hair sneaks in from the courtyard and hides on the ledge. Then the little girl uses the spell? Wait…no, no, no._

Jim racked his head again.

The spell by the door was prepared. It was placed there before hand.

He reformed his train of thought.

_So the little girl came in _first. _She placed the spell, both by the doorway _and_ on the backdoor. Then she snuck out and waited in the courtyard. Then woman comes home with killer. Operative follows in. Killer kills woman. He does magic stuff. Operative waits. _Then _little girl uses spell, drops the vase. This warns the killer. Killer runs. Then operative chases serial killer…? And little girl…walks around the house a bit? Then goes out the window? _

Jim rubbed his temple in frustration. It was a bit messy but it was more-or-less coherent.

The point is, the little girl was…helping the serial killer?

Warning him?

Evidently she did not want him to get caught.

But how did the operative know? How did she know to come here?

_Well I know to come here because I solved the script on the wall. She must have done the same. So she came here thinking that it must have been related to the girl._

_Instead the operative saw the killer and didn't know what to do. So she waited and observed. But before she could get a chance to snatch him the littler girl toppled the vase with the spell. This spooked the serial killer and he ran off. She didn't know that the little girl was by the window. _

_Then the little girl…walked around the house a bit and jumped out the window? I guess? _

It was good enough for Jim.

* * *

"Did you find anything, Jim?"

He was silent.

Yomikawa saw that Jim seemed to be deep in thought. It was as if he was slowly thinking something over. She directed her flashlight in his face. She saw the boy wincing at the bright light suddenly piercing his eyes.

"Did. You. Find. Anything?"

He scratched his head.

"No, ma'am…I didn't find anything."

"Nothing? Nothing at all? No footprints? Nothing?"

"No…"

"Either you're stupid or Suspect A is a master. I wonder which it is. Alright, you take over the living room. I'll look around the courtyard _myself_."

* * *

"You're _definitely _stupid."

Jim shrugged his shoulders apologetically. The weight of the 9x19 Parabellum shell – tucked safely away in a pocket on his pants – suddenly felt immeasurably heavy. He saw that the lieutenant was deep in thought.

_She probably didn't figure much out. After all, she can't see like I do…_

"So ma'am, what did you find?"

"I found _a lot_. But it would be difficult to explain it separately. Let me walk you through the beginning."

Jim patiently folded his arms across his chest. He highly doubted that Yomikawa would be able to deduce the series of events like he did. She had _normal _eyes and he had already tucked away the casing and the strand of hair. There were basically no clues for her to work with.

_She'll think Suspect A killed someone and ran off. Plain and simple. No operative. Definitely no girl. _

"So, Jim, before we start let's assign some names so that we're not confused. By my count there's at least four people involved, including the victim. Let's name them A, B, C and V. A is for Suspect A and V is for the victim."

Jim raised his eyebrows.

_What…?_

"This is how it all unfolded, Jim. First of all V is a sex worker. She brings A home. A strangles her. So far so good. Here's the interesting part. B lock picks the front door and sneaks in. B waits at the entrance. Maybe B is observing A. Then B accidentally trips the vase. A bolts for it and B follows him. A somehow shuts the backdoor in B's face, probably with magic. B shoots the door several times. Eventually B opens the door but by then A drove off. B gets in another car and gives chase."

Jim physically resisted the urge to let his mouth drop open.

"But it gets stranger! C, who has been _standing by the window_, sneaks inside and cleans up after A. Why? I don't know! Anyhow, while C was cleaning up B comes back through the backdoor! B tries to open the door, this time from the other side, but it's locked again. C escapes through a small window in the kitchen. B shoots the door and finally opens but it's too late. Then B probably looked around a bit and then left. A long time later, we come in and find this mess. End of story."

Yomikawa rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"There are a lot of gaps, Jim, but this is my best theory right now. What do you think?"

Jim blinked slowly and seriously considered the possibility. He tried to clear his mind. Then, he looked her in the eye let the thought mentally shoot through his head.

_Yomikawa! Look behind you! It's the killer!?_

But the Anti-Skill lieutenant just stared back at him.

_Okay…I guess she's not a mind reader or something. You never know with those damn espers. _

In any case, Jim thought an esper's mind reading ability would work on him. Not when he had his left arm attached to him.

"Well?! What do you think, Jim?!" she asked impatiently.

"Um…I don't think it makes sense. Your theory is too elaborate. Okay…first things first, are you even sure B exists? Why not just A? Also, how do you know B tripped the vase? What makes you think B stood at the entrance for a long time? Maybe A just tripped it while killing V? Maybe he started to strangle her at the doorway? Or it just fell?"

"Well, fair enough, I don't know _for sure_ that B tripped it. However I am sure B _exists. _The reason is simple. I noticed at the entrance there were small particles of dust and dirt. It is very distinctive. B was wearing some sort of tactical boots, well-worn tactical boots. I know this because I can literally see the footprints. Those tactical boots always have deep grooves for extra friction. That's where, the grooves I mean, all the dirt and dust came from. It also gives the boots a distinctive boot print. The reason I know B stood at the entrance for a long time is because there's a spot with _a lot of dust and dirt. _Clearly as she stood there all of the particles just came off by themselves."

Jim grimaced internally. She was right. The red footprints were indeed those of a pair of tactical boots.

"But ma'am, maybe the boots are from A?"

Yomikawa rolled her eyes and her hands reached over and twisted his ears. Then she dragged Jim – whining loudly with pain – over to the door way and shone her light on two pairs of shoes at the entrance.

"Jim, I know you are a foreigner but come on! Look! Here in Japan we take off our shoes when we enter a house. There are clearly two pairs of shoes here; one pair of high heels belonging to V and another pair of men's shoes belong to A. So, _no_, A was not wearing boots. I saw you walking through the entrance when you were exploring around. Were your _eyes closed _or something?!"

Jim rubbed his ears, still stinging with pain, and considered carefully what he would say next. He needed to be careful to not let slip of any information he knew. He also had to make sure not to ask any leading questions.

"But, lieutenant! How do you know C exists? How do you know he cleaned up after A? Why not B? Maybe he cleaned up after A? And also the window! How do you know that C stood by the window until A and B ran off?"

"Woah, woah, Doctor Jim, one question at a time. First, of all I know C exists. And I also happen to think that C is a girl…a small girl in fact. Well, probably more like a very small statured woman. A woman who is a bit childish. I also know that she is…very polite. And unlike you, Jim, she is not a barbarian! She knows that one should take off their shoes when they enter a house."

Jim felt his heart stop beating.

"Wha –"

"Okay first the window. I admit it's a bit of a blind shot but it makes sense. One thing I do know is that she stood by the window. How do I know this? Because there's a pair of dirty slippers by the window. And you can clearly see a pair of dirty footprints on the ledge. I don't need special thermal vision or DNA mapping to see that. I can also…_guess_ that C sneaked in through the window. Why? Because the window is unlocked. You can see that A and V had just gotten home. Maybe V unlocked it? Maybe V forgot to lock it? Who knows. However it's likely C opened it and gained entrance to the living room. You can actually still see it slightly open."

"But a girl? Small statured woman? Ho –"

"Blind guess, true, but come on! Look at the slippers. They are small and girlish. And judging by their size the person wearing them is very small. Unless she has super small feet, that is. Occam's razor, Jim."

"Her kid! Her own kid! V's daughter!"

"Nope. And don't say A is her husband. Look around Jim! Do you see any family pictures? Look at the placard at the front door. It written with the family name and all of the inhabitants. It's a Japanese custom. And there's only one name listed on it. V's name. So A and C are definitely not family members. Also you checked upstairs, right? No sign of a kid's room, right?"

She was right.

"But C escaping through the window? How?"

"Oh right Jim, I was going to mention that. On that note I have to say you are _seriously_ quite dumb! I honestly expected more of you!"

* * *

They walked out of the house and circled to the back. It was the place where Jim had found the flattened grass and the girl's strand of hair. Luckily he had already tucked the hair away in a pocket as well. At this rate it was a real possibility that Yomikawa would _actually _spot the hair if it was in the bushes.

She shined the flashlight at the flattened grass.

"Now Jim, where did you grow up? In the city? In a village?"

"I was…in the city until I was six or so. Then I moved to the country."

"So you've been around the woods? Know your way around the forest?"

_Of course, _he thought, _I spent the most of the last war in the Krakozh mountains._

"Yes…kind of."

"Well Jim, I'll admit that I'm a city girl through and through, but I don't need to be some _master tracker _in order to know that somebody jumped out of the window and landed here. And also, look at how small that window is! An adult would not fit through that. Only a child or small woman. Or midget. Something like that. Another point for my theory."

Yomikawa flashed her light to the tall bushes.

Jim felt his heartbeat shooting up.

"I thought maybe C would run into some bushes and get her hair caught or something. But no luck. I guess C had short hair. Perhaps a male midget! Or a dwarf? I don't know which is the better term. The correct term. Anyways, no leads there."

"Then how do you know B chased A? And shooting the door? What?"

"Jim…seriously, _were_ your eyes closed? Are you blind?"

She dragged him over to the backdoor. The moment her flashlight landed on it he realized why she had formed that conclusion. Jim cursed himself for only using his other pair of eyes to check the scene.

He did not use his _normal eyes_.

The door handle was charred and pieces of metal and wood had been twisted off or had burst open. Clearly someone had shot at the handle. Multiple times.

"See, Jim? B was shooting at it. And it's more likely to be B because of the tactical boots. And you can see this from both sides. So clearly B tried to open it twice. Once from the inside, and the other time from the outside."

She picked up several empty casings from the grass. The one in Jim's trousers suddenly felt like a weightless feather. He could not believe that he had missed that on his way back in.

"Look, Jim. 9x19 Parabellum. B was using a handgun. Probably suppressed, because the call mentioned no gunshot. Also if someone was shooting so much without a suppressor, the negihbors would hear it and call us right away."

Yomikawa rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Hmm…since we're in Academy City I have to say the most likely option is probably a Glock 17. Our own Anti-Skill's Glock 17, in fact. Or it could be an American M9 that got written off and smuggled inside."

"But magic! You said A sealed the door with magic!"

"Yes, I did. I don't expect you to know this but I do. I recognize this model of door handle and the lock. I can also tell you with 100% that the door was not actually locked when B pried it open. So either A was pushing against it to hold it or it was sealed by magic. And judging by where B was shooting A definitely was not leaning against it. And C is a small…person. A small person would not be good at the holding the door with their body weight. And C is probably not bullet-proof either."

"But why magic? It's –"

Jim knew because he saw the magical symbol. How did Yomikawa…

"Well, you know how it is, Jim. If it's not science then it's magic. It hand waves everything! Very convenient when you can't come up with something logical."

Jim suddenly stopped himself. His eyes widened. He suddenly remembered the earlier afternoon, when they were both in the car. He remembered what she had said when she had ordered him to clean the toilet. He remembered a phrase in particular that she had used.

_'__What, you think Suspect A is a super spy or something? You think he's the Pope with his Vatican magicians?'_

Her voiced echoed in his head.

'_You think he's the Pope with his Vatican magicians?'_

He narrowed his eyes.

_'…his Vatican magicians?'_

She was poking around with the busted door handle.

"Yomikawa…"

The lieutenant stopped in her tracks when she heard his voice. Jim was no longer speaking in his cadet voice. Instead a mongrel was addressing her. She turned slowly, with a raised eyebrow, and saw that his face had formed into a deadly serious expression.

Frankly she found it quite comical.

"Yes, what it is, Mr. I -am-just-a-dumb-cadet-until-I-get-serious-and-talk-with-a-super-duper-low-voice-so-you-know-that-I-am-being-super-duper-serious? What do you want, eh?!"

"How…how do you know about magic?"

_Ah, _she thought, _I let my tongue slip. _

Yomikawa immediately remembered what she had said in car. But it was pointless, she had already said that. It was already out there. It was more important to put out this immediate fire.

"I was just kidding, Jim. I don't know how the door was held close."

"No…you said something else. This afternoon, while we were in car. You said the phrase 'the Pope and his Vatican magicians.' How…how do you know that?"

They both knew what he was talking about.

Magic was a secret hidden from the world. It was one of the best kept secrets, considering how far its reach was and how long and how extensive magic had been practiced. All magicians knew that they must never practice magic in front of common people, lest they too, want to learn it for themselves.

There were – broadly speaking – only two groups of people in the world who knew about the existence of magic. One group was the magicians themselves.

The other group was intelligence officers. Intelligence officers from various services around the world knew, especially those serving in the Academy City's black intelligence service.

Those like Jim.

While Jim had already known – quite vaguely, to be fair, almost superstitiously – about magic before being recruited by the jackals, he certainly did not understand the concept of magic and magicians as he did now.

He certainly _did not_ know that the Vatican City made extensive use of magicians as a paramilitary force in order to further the magical interests of the Catholic Church. He only learned about that after the jackals had recruited him and began training him to be an intelligence officer.

Jim was just a mongrel, yes, but the jackals held everyone to high standards, even mongrels. _Especially mongrels_. That's why they were so successful. And to be successful you most certainly had to know about your potential opponents.

The Anti-Skill lieutenant standing in front of him had _no business_ knowing about magic, let alone about _the_ Vatican City's magicians_._

But Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho just made a long face.

"OH REALLY? So you remember me saying that one particular phrase like a true professional but couldn't see the fucking door handle? Seriously? That's what you remember? Well, good to know! Because next time I need you to do something important I'll make sure to order you around in relations to the toilet. _Then_ maybe you'll actually use your damn eyes or something."

Yomikawa rolled her eyes and adopted a comical, high pitched voice:

_"Jim, scour the crime scene with your eyes, like you're looking for shit stains on the toilet!_"

Then, just to tease him, she swore loudly:

"Jesus Christ!"

Jim was not amused.

Yomikawa simply smiled.

"Now, while you're standing there with your I'm-not-kidding-this-is-serious-please-take-me-seriously-even-though-I-awlays-pretend-to-be-a-dumbass-cadet expression, let me walk you through rest of my deductions. I said A drove off and B gave chase, right? Well I know that because there are some tire marks on the pavement just outside the backdoor. Clearly A had parked his car there beforehand – proof of premediated murder – and drove off in a hurry, accelerating suddenly."

She smiled at how he was trying to keep a straight face.

"Now how do I know that B gave chase, also in a car? Well, to put it simply, unlike a certain Mr. I-pretend-to-be-a-dumb-cadet-until-I-get-serious-then-I-_acutall_y-becomes-a-stupid-cadet-who-walks-around-with-his-eyes-closed-but-I-still-think-I'm-such-a-badass, this Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho actually _pays attention. _Even when there seems to be nothing happening."

She smacked him on the head.

"That is how _I_ noticed that there was a pair of tire marks near where we parked the patrol car. I also noticed that the car parked there – a van of some sort, judging by the tires' spacing – had an oil leak. The car parked there also accelerated suddenly and took off in the same direction as A's car. And you can also see the same puddle of oil in the back of house, showing that the driver came back again before driving off. Since we know B was chasing A, the logical answer is that the van is B's car! Voila! It is, at the very least, a reasonable guess."

Jim just gave up. His mouth simply dropped open. Yomikawa giggled at his expression and proudly directed him towards the living room.

"Now follow me please, Mr…_hobo canine, _and I'll tell you why I think C cleaned up after A."

* * *

The lieutenant waved her hands around the victim's body in a sweeping motion.

Jim saw that it was glowing green, just as he had saw with his other eyes. But this time, he was seeing the same thing with his normal eyes. He turned to look at Yomikawa.

Jim suddenly realized what the faint acidic smell he had smelled in the kitchen was.

"Yes," she said, "it's urine."

She handed him the LED UV flashlight and he swept it over the living room as well. He could see the faint green trail leading from the living room to the kitchen.

"Personally I think it's cat urine, probably that of a black cat, but of course I can't say that for certain without testing. The cat part, I meant. I doubt we can specifically test for a _black _cat."

"A…black cat, ma'am?"

"Yes. Or a white one. Or a magical one. Or the Pope's cat. Some stupid shit like that. Don't ask me why, I am not a magician. But them magicians usually believe in some shit like that for their spells to work. But I know for certain it's urine. And since this is magical, it's probably that a cat. Although I've heard of dog's urine being used as an ingredient as well. Anyways, blood and semen usually show up in a different color. At least we know that A didn't…defile the victim. So instead of a pervert we have a religious nut."

Jim wondered why Yomikawa had the LED UV flashlight on her. Well, to be fair, it made perfect sense. Such a tool was very useful for seeing hidden bloodstains. It was only natural an Anti-Skill officer would carry it on her.

_What on earth does she carry with her, the entire fucking armory? Is this why she relies on Tessou so much? So that she can give her everything? _

"Just like you said, Jim, it's some sort of moral thing. Some magician is going around killing people for their depraved morals. This victim's a sex worker, so the angle must be sexual depravity."

"But...cleaning up? C cleaning up? How…"

"Couple of things. Look at the sink in the kitchen, Jim. No, not with your eyes. And also, _now _you use your eyes? Ugh. I meant with the UV flashlight!"

Jim flashed it over the kitchen sink. It was glowing bright green, even stronger than the stain in the living room. He saw that there was a small container of liquid in the sink. He brought his nose closer and looked away in disgust.

It stank of urine.

"A was probably using the urine to…oh I don't know, draw a magic circle or some magician shit like that. Anyways, C clearly dumped the stuff in the sink and was trying to wash it away."

"But why C? Why not B? Or A?"

Yomikawa smiled.

"Jim…tell me where the soap is."

He pointed at the bottle of liquid soap next the kitchen sink. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, it's here _now. _But imagine that it wasn't there, where would you look for it? Put yourself in someone else's shoes, someone trying to clean the crime scene. And there's no soap."

Jim's eyes slowly looked over the kitchen's drawers and cupboards. He realized that they had already been opened.

"That's right Jim, there's nothing there. Nothing below the sink. Where do you look next?"

He flashed his flashlight _over_ the sink. There were other cabinets. There were several cabinets hanging overhead, above the kitchen counter. The light stopped at a particular section. Jim spied several bottles of liquid soap placed _on top_ of the overhead cupboards.

"Now, try to reach it with your hands."

Jim was not the tallest person. For a sixteen year old teenage boy he was just about average. He found that even when he was standing on his toes, he was barely tall enough and his arms barely long enough to reach for a bottle.

"No, no, don't actually take one. Don't disturb the crime scene. Now Jim, what would you do if you were shorter? Let's say…two feet shorter? And your arms were also shorter?"

"Um…I'd get a chair? Something to stand on?"

Yomikawa smiled and flashed her light to his front. He saw that there was already a chair taken from the dining table. And it was placed right in front of where the overhead cabinet with the soap bottles was.

_Just like what a small girl would do …_

"Now, time for a pop quiz! Of the people A, B, C and V, who is most likely to be the shortest?"

_…if she was trying to reach for the soap bottles on the overhead cabinet. _

"...C? The girl? The small girl?"

She shook his head sadly.

"Jim, you are not just blind but also stupid. Is that a note of uncertainty I detect in your voice?"

Jim shook his head in confusion.

"Why would you be uncertain? OF COURSE! OF COURSE IT'S C! WHO ELSE?"

The lieutenant quick directed her beam of light towards the small kitchen window high on the wall. It was where the girl had jumped out on the grass from.

There was also a chair propped beneath it.

"And that is the answer to our Flying Suspect! B suddenly come back and started banging on the door, shooting at it and what not, so C had to get a chair and jump out the window!"

Yomikawa suddenly stopped herself.

"So let's just say, for hypothesis's sake, that B couldn't catch A because of a magic spell on the door. So if B couldn't get in _even _after A was already gone..."

Jim saw a dangerous light flashing across her eyes.

"Then C must have cast that spell! Yes, it makes perfect sense. Yes, yes, of course. Of course C must be a magician as well. After all, why would she clean up after A? It's the magician's code, right? They work with each other to prevent common people from learning about magic. Yes, it makes perfect sense! Perfect sense!"

Jim felt his chest heavy with dread.

"Yes, yes…so that was why C was standing by the window! She was a lookout! A lookout for A to commit his crime. An accomplice! Wait, on that note it makes no sense for B to trip that vase. If B is the type to wear tactical boots and wield a suppressed pistol then B surely would not make such a sloppy mistake. Surely C must have…ah…toppled the vase with magic! Magic! A spell! Like the one on the door!"

She held up her finger triumphantly.

"Yes, yes, C must have been _warning_ A about B!"

The lieutenant was excitedly pacing around the kitchen, her head held low with concentration. She muttered quickly to herself and tried to work out the ways in her theory could be false. She was already playing the devil's advocate against her own hypothesis, using her own skepticism to poke holes at it, strengthening the working theory and discarding the less likely possibilities.

Jim just stared at her.

"Yomikawa…_just who the fuck are you_?"

"What? What did you say?"

"I said, what the fuck are you?"

"What kind of a question is that? And while I appreciate you using my surname directly, as I have asked you to do so many times before_, _I'm not sure I like your tone, Mr. I-am-just-a-cadet!"

"I know what I asked. Who the fuck are you?"

"Woah, woah! Watch your tone, little boy! And I am just a normal Anti-Skill lieutenant, that's all! Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho of Anti-Skill Branch 73!"

"I don't give a shit about my tone. And you're _just _a normal Anti-Skill lieutenant as much as I'm _just_ a normal Anti-Skill cadet!"

A shadowy smile spread across her face.

She suddenly spoke to him in a voice he did not recognize.

"Well, I think you've just answered your own question there, didn't you, Jakov?"

Jim's heart stopped when he heard that name.

He felt the hair on the back his neck standing up. He looked at the woman standing in the dark in front of him. Although she wore the uniform of an Anti-Skill officer, he recognized her as no such thing.

Jim was not talking to an Anti-Skill lieutenant.

"Didn't your new station chief tell you who I am, Jakov?"

He recognized that glint in her eye, that cold, shadowy smile on her face. He had seen it many times before. And they always belonged to the same group of people. It was the people who had picked him up from Krakohzia, the people who had reached their hands out him and gave him a chance to work in the shadows.

It was the same eyes he saw when he was in that small, suffocating basement heavy with the smell of freshly carved wood, surrounded by thousands and thousands of blank wooden dolls.

She had the smile of jackal.

"No, you're wrong. I don't smile like a jackal. I am not one of _you._ I don't _don the black. _In any case, I'm sure your new station chief has also told you that I'm not a snake. If he is anyone worth his salt, that is. Regardless, both statements are true."

She rolled her eyes when she saw his expression.

"Now, while I find this suggestion terribly offensive, I must address it and assure you that _no, I can't read your mind_. I don't need dirty little esper tricks like that."

"But my name…how…?"

"Please, don't be so surprised about your name. Yes, it's written _Jim_ Ivanov Ivanov – terribly uncreative, by the way – on all of your school papers, even on the Anti-Skill file, but I hardly need access to your personal file from the black ones to know that the name on your Bulgarian passport is _Jakov_ Ivanov Ivanov."

Her smile grew wider.

"So, please, don't act so surprised. I'm sure they…hmm, let's see. Sofia? The Sofia station? I know the black ones have a big station in Sofia. Well, I know for certain it's either Varna or Sofia, and you don't look like someone from Varna. Let's settle on Sofia then."

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"Anyhow, I'm sure _they_ told you to change it to an anglicized version before coming here. To avoid attention, of course. After all, with _Jim_ you could pass as some generic white kid, but with _Jakov_ you would be an _exotic_ Eastern European white kid. It would be certainly be problematic if anyone thought you were _Russian._ To be fair, you don't look very white."

She tapped her fingers on her lips.

"You look quite mixed actually. Some variety of Central Asian, perhaps? Crimean Tatar? Well, I heard that the Crimean Tatars don't look very Asian these days, do they? Then Dagestani, perhaps? Georgian? Azerbaijani? Armenian? No, no, I'm getting too far, aren't I. Let's see…since your passport is Bulgarian, it should be somewhere close by, somewhere to the west side of the Black Sea. That makes you either some form of Turkish or, more likely…"

Her eyes twinkled with feverish excitement.

"…Krakozh? From Krakozhia?"

The blood drained from Jim's face.

"Oh course! You're Krakozh! It the obvious choice! Of course it would be Bulgaria's next door neighbor, Krakozhia! I heard that they'd just finished fighting a bloody civil war a couple of years ago. There'd plenty of child soldiers for the black ones to recruit. I'm sure that's how you became a mongrel. Oh, my poor Jaten'ko!"

She narrowed her eyes and her fiendish smile widened.

"But you're too easy to read, Jaten'ko, you really are. You really must practice your poker face. You managed it so well too, when we were in the interrogation room. You're not going to last very long in field like otherwise. You shouldn't make such a face just because some nasty lieutenant from your Anti-Skill cover is stating some _incredibly_ _obvious_ facts. What will do you if the snakes get their hands on you? Or your own jackals? You're such a poor, unfortunate boy, my dear Jaten'ko, you really are."

For a long time the only sound in the kitchen was the their flashlights humming with electricity.

Jim stared at her.

And the abyss stared back.

* * *

She peeked her head around the corner again. The Anti-Skill patrol car was still parked there. She frowned unhappily.

What exactly was she expecting?

The small girl with ashen hair knew that she was seriously pushing her luck. First she had managed wander around the area for the entirety of the late afternoon without anyone noticing or seeing her. Then she was lucky enough to see the summoner park his car behind the house. After that she managed to break into the house with simple spell to unlock the window. Then…

She swallowed guiltily.

Then she did _that. _

Soon afterwards she placed two spells, one at the entrance and the other on the backdoor, just as a precautionary measure. Then she managed to stay hidden while the summoner made his fourth sacrifice and draw the sloppy shape that he called a sigil. Somehow she managed to alert him to the scary woman's presence and she managed to hold the woman long enough for him to escape.

She even had to gall to call Anti-Skill with the landline.

Then when she was cleaning after the slob – that sigil was too obvious, and he still needed one more – the scary woman suddenly came back. All the girl had heard from the kitchen was a quiet shake of the handle. Then silence.

Then shooting.

Lots of shooting.

_Aren't you supposed to capture me? How is shooting the door like that going to accomplish that? What if I was standing behind it? _

And so out the window she went. Unfortunately for her, in her great haste she forgot to take her pair of slippers from the ledge. The landing was also _quite _bad. She thought she heard a nasty crack in her ankles when she hit the grass.

So now the girl was not only barefooted but also walking around with a limp.

She knew that she was _very_ lucky to have managed to accomplish all that without getting caught.

However when she turned around and accidentally bumped her ankle against a telephone pole, a sharp pain shot through her left leg. She bent over, painful tears rolling down her cheeks, and gently massaged her twisted ankle.

Okay, maybe not _that _lucky.

But she was not worried about that. The girl was not worried about her ankle or the persistent, gnawing hunger in her stomach. In fact, at that very moment she wasn't even really that concerned about the scary woman catching her.

She was worried about _him_.

A heavy guilt pressed down on her thin, delicate shoulders whenever she thought about what she did to him.

_But I had to_, she consoled herself, _I had to! _

That was the reason she had called Anti-Skill in the first place.

She didn't want to him to….

She was very well aware of her own actions, the fact that she stood by and let the summoner strangle the woman without lifting a finger but now she had the shamelessness to be so – _oh so –_ concerned about him.

_Oh sweet, loving mother! Thy name is hypocrisy and I am your daughter! _

But the girl with ashen hair gritted her teeth and stood up again. She did not have the luxury of being moral or righteous. She never did. It was a lesson that she had learned a long, long time ago.

And she did not survive so long on her own by shying away from the difficult decisions. They were the decisions that only she could make.

She twisted her fingers into a peculiar position.

She was a bit far, yes, but she had no choice. She needed to do it from here. Any closer and the Anti-Skill officers might spot her. And she was sure that she had seen the young man with the deep black eyes walking around the house, with his eyes closed but opened at the same time. She saw a terrible darkness swirling around him.

If he saw her, she was done for.

The girl quickly began whispering the counter-spell.

* * *

Movement.

They both heard it at the same time and both of them immediately turned off all of their flashlights.

What followed felt like an eternity of oppressive silence. Both of them stood there, in the darkness, not daring to breathe. He unsheathed his baton while she quietly pulled out her Glock 17 and switched off the thumb safety – an extra safety feature added to Anti-Skill's Glock pistols – with a noiseless click.

They heard it again.

She pointed her fingers to the ceiling.

"I thought you said there wasn't anyone upstairs?" she hissed.

"There isn't. I didn't see anyone."

"Did you check the closet? Open the cupboards? Check behind the bookshelves?"

He was silent. He had only given the rooms a cursory glance.

"Jesus Christ! You are blind _and_ stupid."

He could see that she was already crouching in the hallway, with her pistol at the ready, carefully scanning the staircase. He crept up behind and stacked behind her. Then he reached his hand out and placed it on her shoulder.

"Oh, no you don't, you little dumb fuck. I'm the one with gun and you're the one with the stick. How about you go first? That way at least you can catch some rounds and do something useful with your miserable life."

"Fuck you."

Jim growled in anger but he still crept forwards in front of her. Now he was in front while she was behind him. He could feel the polymer muzzle of Glock 17 hanging in the air beside his right ear. He knew if she started shooting his right ear was going to be in for a bad time. But this was no time to complain.

She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

So the two of them moved, methodically and quietly, up the stairs as a single unit. The team stopped at the last step of the stairs. Jim peeked his head above the horizon of the second floor, fully expecting a burst of automatic fire to pierce his skull, but there was nothing.

"How many rooms are there?"

"A study and a bedroom."

"The fuck? There was _another_ bedroom? Just _how_ dumb can you be? I _knew_ I should have checked _personally_," she breathed in his ear.

"It was _empty!_ And it was _not _furnished!" he hissed back.

"Which room can he hide in? Or were your fucking eyes closed as well?"

"The study only has a desk and bookshelf. The bedroom has a bed and walk in closet."

"A walk in closet and a bed _is _furnishment, you blind, stupid, little shit."

Another noise. Both of them heard something moving in the bedroom.

The two crept up and stacked on the door.

"Please tell me you know CQB, you blind dumbass. Please tell me the jackals at least taught you that. Please."

"I do, you fucking bitch. I do. I was in Vastok for fuck's sake. I was going room to room, house to house, building to building for months. That's more fucking action then you'll fucking ever see in Anti-Skill."

"Words, words! How about you walk the walk, huh?"

They stacked up on the door. Jim's hands quietly reached for the handle. He spitefully turned back at her for one last time.

"Should have given me a fucking gun."

"Why? So you can shoot me in the back? And what for? You're blind as a bat anyways."

"Fuck you."

He placed his hand on the cold metal handle. Jim felt his heartbeat rapidly increasing. The thumping of his heart was so loud, so all-encompassing that he felt like the entire world must have heard it. But he knew that was not the case. As long he controlled his breathing he would be silent. Despite how it felt like, Jim knew that this was not his first time doing this nor would it be his last.

He felt her hand lightly touching his shoulder.

Her hands were _absolutely_ steady.

"Remember, you go right and I go left. The moment we go in we turn on our flashlights. We hit him low, hard and fast, understand?"

"Yes…ma'am."

A pause.

Then her hand squeezed his shoulders.

Jim turned the handle and gave it a gentle push. Once the door was slightly open, he pulled back for a step, raising his right leg…

…and kicked in the door.

Violence.

Swift, sudden and controlled escalation of violence.

The door didn't even managed to hit the side of room's walls before both of them burst inside, with their blinding flashlight piercing and scanning every corner of the dark bedroom, waiting for a target to present itself.

Jim went forwards to right, swinging his baton, ready to bring it down onto someone's skull while Yomikawa turned to the left with her pistol at the ready, holding it close her body with its muzzle illumined by beam of light. Her finger was on the trigger and the pistol was only a millisecond away from double taping someone's head and torso with two lethal streaks of high velocity 9x19 Parabellum FMJ rounds.

The worst part of neither of them made a noise. It all happened so quickly and so suddenly. Only the sound of door crashing against the wall and echoing across the empty bedroom announced their arrival.

Then Jim saw him.

He caught only a small flash of movement across the bed from the corner of his vision. He was huddling in a corner, but Jim saw him regardless. And Jim did not hesitate. He immediately jumped onto the bed raised his baton for the blow.

But she grabbed his hand mid-motion and the next thing he knew was the Glock's slide smashing into his nose. He reeled back, in shock, as she wrestled the baton away from his hands.

"Jim!" she hissed.

"Hands up! Get out you –"

He began to yell but his words were cut off by a terrible right hook across his jaws. He clutched his bloodied mouth and before he could say anything he felt her hand savagely covering his mouth, almost as if she had him a choke hold. Her iron grip locked itself around his throat and mouth.

"Shhhh! Don't shout!" she hissed again.

He stared at her with crazed eyes.

She pointed her finger frenziedly at the corner of the room, just behind the bed. She slowly directed the beam of light to him. That's when Jim saw him, clearly, for the first time.

He was huddled in the corner, curled into a tiny ball, shivering in fear.

And he was a _boy. _

He was a _small little boy_.

Jim could tell that he couldn't be any more than ten, no, _nine years old_. And he could see that the little boy was still his school uniform, although it was a bit crumbled and messy. He glanced quickly at Yomikawa and saw her glaring at him with her finger over her mouth.

_Be silent!_

Jim's heart sank.

He nodded slowly at her and felt her death grip relaxing from his throat. Then she slowly sheathed her pistol and floated forwards like a fairy. Jim could only stand there with a dazed expression. His body felt numb and cold.

Yomikawa slowly sat down on the bed. She smiled slightly.

"Well," she said gently, "we found you! Now you're it!"

The boy was still shivering.

"Oh, I'm so sorry we came into the room like that. We thought we were playing hide and seek with you. You were hiding so well. Mr. Stupid over there got a little too excited."

He turned to her in a fearful glance. Yomikawa redirected the beam of her flashlight away from the corner, instead letting the light bounce off a nearby wall. The harsh ray of light diffused across the room more gently, basking it in a warm after glow.

The boy could see a serene, friendly smile on the woman's lips.

It was the same smile his mother would have when she read him a bedtime story and tucked him in at night.

She had the same blue eyes as well, the same deep blue irises that he used to spent hours staring into, while she was cooking…

Jim saw the boy's shoulders dropping and his body relaxing. Then the boy stood up slowly.

"I'm sorry…"

"What for? You were great at hiding. Even Mr. Stupid standing over didn't find you when he looked over this room. But between you and me, he's a little _bonkers in the head_."

She patted her hands on a spot of the bed next her.

"Come here! I think you deserve a prize!"

The boy uncertainly walked over. He did not sit down.

"You're not here to catch me?"

"No, of course not. Why would we do that?"

"Because…I ran away from home? I'm so sorry."

Yomikawa tilted her head with a cute, puzzled expression on her face.

"Oh wow! You're even playing hide and seek with your family! You must be really good at this! Can you tell onee-san how be so good like you?"

The boy smiled at her absurd comment. Jim felt his heart…

"No…onee-san, I'm not playing hide and seek. I ran away because…my father…"

He looked down at the floor.

"Oh, it's okay, you don't have go back to him. Come here!"

She slowly reached her hand over and gently pulled him to the bed. The boy sat down beside her. Then he suddenly looked up and grabbed Yomikawa's vest.

"Please, don't hurt mommy! She didn't kidnap me! She didn't know! I came here by myself!"

A small shudder ran down Yomikawa's spine, but she did not stop smiling.

"We know, we know. By the way, how did you get in the house? It's such a good hiding spot. Onee-san would never have thought of it it."

"Oh I had a spare key. Mommy told me that if…he, my father I mean, was ever mean to me I could always come here. She said that she would always protect me."

"Ah, I see. That makes sense. When did you come here?"

"I came straight after school. I didn't want to go home…"

Yomikawa peeled off her dirty forensic gloves and slowly patted him on the head, feeling his short damp hair brushing against her sweaty palm. The boy sat there and stared at the ground.

She paused for a moment.

"So, were you playing hide and seek with anyone else? Before onee-san and Mr. Stupid came here? Why were you hiding in the…ah…closet? Under the bed?"

The boy looked up and scratched his head, as if he was trying very hard to remember something.

"Yes…there was this girl. She was kind of weird. She had…ah…"

Jim widened his eyes.

"…I think she had white hair? Like a grandpa? But she was like me, like someone in elementary school. She said…what did she say…?"

Yomikawa glanced coldly at Jim. He saw something angry and dangerous gleaming in her eyes.

"Oh really! So another girl found your hiding spot! What did she say? Can you please remember?"

"Um…she said…no, no! First her eyes started to glow, like an _witch! _Or like Card Captor Sudako, you know, the magical girl on from the anime! It's my favorite anime! I love how –"

He suddenly stopped.

"Why, what's wrong?" Yomikawa coaxed, "I was so interested in what you were saying! Don't stop!"

He looked nervously at her.

"You don't think it's weird…that a boy likes Card Captor Sudako? My friends say it for sissy girls."

Yomikawa laughed lightly.

"I love Card Captor Sudako as well! I love how cool she is when she flys on her Dream Staff, and how cute she is when she transforms! My boyfriend and father love her too! Actually…can I tell you a secret?"

The boy nodded slowly, his eyes wide open, listening to her every word. She looked around cautiously.

"Okay, you must promise not to tell anyone, okay? Definitely not Mr. Stupid over there, okay? Pinky promise?"

"Pink promise!"

"So…my grandpapa is a grumpy old man…but one night I saw him watch Card Captor Sudako! He was watching it alone and having so much fun! The next day I asked him what he thought about it, and he huffed and puffed and said it was stupid!"

"But, but wasn't he watching it too?"

"I know! He can't even be honest. I bet all your friends are like that too, hehehe!"

The two shared a childish giggle together.

"So anyways, you were telling me about the girl? The girl with white hair?"

The boy looked up brightly. He was regaining his vitality and energy.

"Oh right! So I was hanging out in this bedroom and she suddenly appeared in the door. She asked me what I was doing. I said that this was my room and asked who she was. She said she was mommy's friend and that she wanted to play with me. Then…then her eyes…"

"What happened? Did she transform into Sudako?"

"No, no. She um…don't laugh, okay? Her eyes started glowing! And her voice got all strange and like. She said that she wanted to play hide and seek and that she'll be it and I should hide. She said my mom would be home soon and she would call me if she got home. I don't know why…but I said yes and hid in the closet. Then I guess I…I, ah…fell asleep?"

Yomikawa leaned back slowly and continued to hold his hand, a smile still dancing on her lips.

"Ah, I see, so the little girl of white hair found you first! Such a shame, I thought onee-san and Mr. Stupid over there were the first. But that's alright, you still won the game. Onee-san hope that she can meets the little girl soon, and play _lots and lots of games with her._"

His small hands tightened around her rough, calloused fingers.

"Are you going to arrest mommy? Please don't arrest mommy. Everyone says she's a bad woman, a bad mom but that's not true! She loves me! She's the only one who loves me! My father says that she's a…what do you say…home cracker? Home tracker?"

Yomikiawa raised her eyebrows with light puzzlement.

"Home wrecker?" she suggested.

"Yes, that! Father says she's a home wrecker, who rips apart the family with bad words and lies. But that's not true! She just wants to protect me!"

There it was again.

Lying.

Falsehood.

Yomikawa drew him in for a gentle hug. She knew that it was uncomfortable for him to squish his face against the stab vest with its protruding pouches so she simply wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"It's okay," she whispered into his ears, "everything is going to be okay."

But the boy wrapped his short stubby arms around her stab vest and buried his face against the rough velcro pouches.

As for Jim, he only heard the sound the rapidly approaching sirens. Well, that and the sound of his collapsible baton slowly rolling across the carpet. And of course, the blood dripping from his nose.

* * *

The cool night air greeted him forgivingly.

Even though he knew it had only been two hours at most, he felt like he had not stepped out of the house for _months. _He savored the sweet taste of night and gazed longingly at the sky.

Oh, how badly, how desperately he longed for the beautiful sky of his homeland. Back in the mountains he could see the most dazzling array of stars and the entire glaxay painted across the sky. But here, in Academy City, he could only make out a murky, smoggy darkness.

He shakingly brought the waterbottle to his mouth swallowed some water.

Why was his hands shaking?

Was it excitement?

Was it excitement from personally witnessing and studying the crime scene of a serial killer? No it was not. He didn't give two hoots about the serial killer. And he's seen worst and nastier bodies in the war.

Was it fear?

Was it fear from having his name exposed, his nationality deduced and his past accurately uncovered? Perhaps. Perhaps. The sight of her cold unflinching gaze staring into his eyes brought a shiver down his spine. But no, that was not it. He was no strangers to jackals, even though he could tell that she was not one. Still, she was _something like that. _

Was it adrenaline?

Was the rushing adrenaline he felt when he rushed into the room, swinging his baton like madman, fully prepared for his life to end then and there, to die that very moment? Perhaps. Perhaps. But no, it was not that either. He had kicked in doors before, yes, and he knew what it felt like to have a burst of automatic fire passing just centimeters from his face. This was not it.

Was it…was it the fact that for a briefest moment, he was absolutely ready to bring his baton down and crack open little boy's skull? Was it the fact that if Yomikawa wasn't there to stop him, or if she was too late, or if she had been less forceful…he definitely would have killed the boy?

Was that it?

Guilt?

He stared at his shaking hands.

Nah, it was not it.

It must be the damn coffee.

He had drank, what was it, five cups in the patrol car on his way there. And he was not the only one either. Yomikawa had brought a huge thermos and both of them were chugging caffeine to stay awake.

Yes that was it. That had to be it.

_Damn caffeine!_

He crushed the water bottle in his hands and threw it away. Then he leaned his back against the patrol car and looked over the scene absolutely buzzing with activity.

He counted at least twenty Anti-Skill patrol car parked haphazardly in this small street. They formed and tight perimeter around the house in question. He could see dozen of Anti-Skill busily working away, like diligent ants, gathering evidence and questioning the neighbors.

Jim saw Yomikawa in a quiet corner, away from all the buzzing sirens and the commotion, talking quickly to a man in a suit. She still had the boy clinging to her side. Jim could tell that the man in a suit was a high ranking person among the Anti-Skill officers. Perhaps he was the commander of Task Force A. He was, however, bowing in deference to Yomikawa, patiently listening to her every word.

But it was no time for Jim to staring at other people.

He took stock of his own situation.

So, he solved _a _line of script from the warehouse. _That single_ line of script led him here. And it was here he discovered that the little girl with ashen hair was intricately linked the Suspect A, the serial killer.

He also learnt that the little girl was a magician of some sort. At the very least she could use simple spells.

He also knew that the fiery operative had also decrypted the lines of script and was hot on the little girl's heels.

But most important revelation was that, for whatever reason, the little girl was _helping the serial killer. _At the very least she was covering for him. She definitely did not want him to get caught.

Jim groaned as his brain struggled to process everything.

He knew that the best lead he had…was the serial killer. If he could find the serial killer, then he could find the girl. Most likely.

_And my best bet of finding the serial killer…_

Yomikawa turned around and gave the little boy a tight hug. Then she lifted him up in her hands and started walking over to Jim.

_…is to work with Lieutenant Yomikawa Aiho. _

Jim knew that he could hide his motives from his station chief. He knew that the old jackal probably had other intelligence officers to oversee and probably his own team to manage. He knew that if push came to shove he could claim ignorance and say he didn't know the operative was chasing the little girl.

He could hide the importance of his locket and the girl with ashen hair from the jackals.

_Risky, yes, but I can make it work._

Jim saw Yomikawa bantering and chatting with the little boy. He seemed absolutely oblivious to the gravity of the situation. He felt a familiar ache pulsing through his left arm.

_But how the fuck am I supposed to hide that from Yomikawa? _

He remembered how his station chief had mentioned her by name.

_'And yes, she _is_ good. That's _the_ Yomikawa after all.'_

Was there supposed to be other Yomikawas? Did Jim _just _have to get the _this _particular, nasty one? He should have listened. He should have listened. If a jackal deems it important to mention someone by name...then he should have known it was for a damn good reason.

He saw her eyes already resting him, observing every detail about him, as if mentally reading his mind.

Jim sighed deeply.

At one point in the night he had three advantages in his favor.

_Firstly_, he knew about the girl and the operative.

_Secondly_, he knew about the serial killer being a magician of some sort.

_Thirdly_, he knew about the lines of script on the walls of the warehouse.

Now, he only had one advantage left.

For some reason, Jim felt like it was not going to be enough. He could tell that Yomikawa was absolutely out for blood. If she got her hands on the girl with ashen hair Jim highly doubted that the girl would ever step out a cell again.

He considered telling Yomikawa everything, telling her about the girl and the locket.

But her cold, piercing eyes, staring through him, came back to his mind and he shuddered again. This woman already knew enough about him. He did not want to tell her anymore. And frankly he had no reason to trust her. Clearly she knew about the jackals and the snakes.

There no guarantee that she wouldn't rat him out to them.

He looked at his watch. It was Tuesday, 2:00 AM.

_Four days_, he thought tiredly, _I've been in this city for four fucking days! _

"Mr. Stupid, get in the car. But not in the passenger seat! That is reserved for this little gentleman. We're driving to the Anti-Skill HQ."

"Yes, ma'am."

As they got into the car Jim leaned over to Yomikawa.

"You've got a boyfriend, ma'am?"

She smirked.

"My grandfather died when I was three. Figure out the rest for yourself."

She opened the door for the little boy and helped him into his seat.

Jim thought back to his frantic days in Sofia. This was all too familiar.

_Out of the frying pan and straight into the fucking fire!_

* * *

-x-

* * *

First uploaded: 7/12/2020

Last modified: N/A

Wordcount: 12,211

* * *

_Author's Notes:_

_Was this fun to write?_

_Kind of…?_

_Is this fun to read?_

_Probably not!_

_But most importantly, is this good story telling?_

_….most likely not._

_Damnit._

_It's okay, I know 99% of you skipped here. I don't blame you. I would have done it too, if I wasn't the fucker who wrote this. Sometimes I really want to wipe my mind and let myself read the stuff I write. I bet mind wiped me would call the psychiatric hospital.  
_

_Honestly I don't even know why I do this anymore. This chapter should have been short and sweet.I just started typing and then this happened.  
_

_I have issues__. I hate myself_.

_At this rate, this arc is going be very loooong._

_Frankly I might come back and trim this chapter down. Maybe. For now, enjoy the bloated mess for what it is. _


End file.
